The zoo’s night-shift head keeper met us at the gate. He looked pale and anxious as he swung open one half of the enormous wreath-laden metal front gate. I pulled my car into the small gravel circle that served as a loading zone when the zoo was open and Grandfather’s private parking when it was not. A dozen live potted evergreens edged the circle, each decked with ribbon-trimmed seed balls and chunks of suet. Was this Grandfather’s idea or one of Caroline’s suggestions?

“Morning, Victor,” Grandfather called out as he climbed out of my car. “Have you finished checking on the animals the way I asked?”

“Oh, yes,” he said. “Both of our skunks are there. All of the animals are there except … except…”

“Out with it, man!”

“Cleopatra’s missing.”

“Missing?” Grandfather exclaimed. “How? Did someone leave her cage unlocked?”

“Who or what is Cleopatra?” I asked.

“The emerald tree boa,” Grandfather said. “Unusually large specimen. Nearly seven feet long.”

“Wouldn’t she be hibernating this time of year?” I suggested. “That’s what snakes do in the winter, right? Maybe she’s just burrowed under whatever bedding’s in her cage.”

“It’s called brumating in a snake,” Grandfather said. “And yes, she’d be doing it now—she might wake up if the weather became unseasonably warm, but with the air this cold, she’d be asleep. We keep the snake house cold enough that they’ll sleep, but not so cold as to be dangerous. Victor, I assume you checked the bedding thoroughly.”

“Thoroughly!” Victor nodded vigorously. “And every corner of the snake house, from drains to rafters. She’s not there. And there are no cracks or crevices she could have used to escape.”

“And no Cleopatra-sized bulges in any of the other large snakes, I assume,” I added.

“Of course not,” Victor snapped. “I’d have noticed. And we only have one or two snakes anywhere near her size.”

“She couldn’t get far, surely, on a night like this?” I asked.

“In the unlikely event that she got outside, she’d go dormant almost immediately,” Grandfather said. “And likely die if she wasn’t found soon enough.”

“She wasn’t lying dormant anywhere within ten feet of the snake house,” Victor said. “We checked even though it was obvious she didn’t leave on her own.”

“You think she was stolen?” Grandfather frowned.

“It’s the only reasonable explanation,” Victor said. “I checked her cage last night, the way I always do when I make my rounds. She was there and the padlock was in place. And I closed the snake house door after me and made sure it was secure—I know how dangerous a draft could be. When I went ’round just now, the padlock was gone and the cage door was wide open. Someone must have cut off the padlock and taken her.”

Grandfather looked grim.