“None at the moment,” Lucy confessed. “Our last cat was killed. . . .” The moment she said it she realized her mistake. She should have said “died of old age,” but she continued, hoping to convince the kitten owner that she was not a kitten abuser. “Our children have been very upset. They miss old Patches very much, and I was hoping to give them a new kitten for Christmas.”

“You have children?” The voice was shocked. “I’m sorry, but our kittens are not used to children. Good-bye.”

Lucy tapped her fingers on the table and looked at the next ad. She scratched her head thoughtfully and thought about Culpepper’s ad in Modern Mercenary magazine. Someone had read those ads looking for a hit man to kill Sam Miller just as she had gone through the ads looking for a kitten. When she didn’t get a satisfactory response, she just went on to the next ad. And whoever had called Culpepper had probably just gone on to the next ad when he’d refused the job.

Lucy dialed the next number. She heard the phone ring six times and was about to hang up when she heard the receiver being picked up. She could hear a baby crying in the background.

“Hello?”

“Hi,” piped a child’s voice.

“Can I speak to your mommy?”

“Okay.” There was a long silence. Lucy thought of the times she’d found the receiver lying on the counter, the caller forgotten, as some distraction interrupted Sara or Elizabeth as they searched for her.

“Hello?” said a grown-up voice.

“I’m calling about the kittens,” Lucy said.

“How many do you want?”

“Just one.”

“How about two? Two are definitely more fun than one.”

“Two would cause fights,” said Lucy, suddenly overcome with Christmas spirit. “Do you have three?”

“Sure, come on over.”

“I must be crazy,” Lucy said, stricken with second thoughts.

“It’s Christmas. Live a little! Crystal, put that kitten down!”

Lucy wrote down the directions and told the woman she would come the next day, Christmas Eve. What am I getting myself into? she thought as she replaced the receiver. Three cats. It wasn’t all that ridiculous, she tried to convince herself. The house was big, and the kids would be thrilled to have one cat each. Maybe three cats would be content to stay safely at home. Anything was possible. She shuddered involuntarily, thinking of poor Patches and Sam Miller, too.

“I know I shouldn’t do this,” she said aloud, dialing the police station. When she got Culpepper on the line, she just plunged in.

“Barney, I think I know how we can find Sam Miller’s killer.”

She explained how the idea had come to her while she had been looking for a kitten in the classifieds. Culpepper was skeptical.

“Lucy, this is crazy. Just let the state police handle it.”