She looked up at him. “Yes,” she said. “The police say he picked up his rental car the Monday after Thanksgiving. His training in Massachusetts started around December first, so it makes sense he’d take a week to drive up and get settled there.”

Musil was thinking he would double-check the dates for himself. The rental pickup, the start of Gelfland’s training and orientation. Records of where he stayed while he took it. Likely a corporate apartment.

“Clara,” he said, “were you being specific about the items in the refrigerator?”

“Yes.” Her eyes lowered to the receipt, returned to Musil. She shook her head slightly, puzzled. “None of these things were inside when I emptied it out.”

“You’re positive? He bought a lot of food for one person. It would seem he’d have leftovers. The turkey, pie, beer—”

“They weren’t in there, Agent. I would remember. It would have reassured me that Steve was telling the truth.”

“About staying home for the holiday.”

“Yes.”

Musil was thoughtful. The distance to Boston was about two hundred miles. A three-or four-hour drive depending on traffic. He supposed Gelfland could have packed some leftovers or prepared sandwiches to eat along the way...

“Something else doesn’t make sense to me,” Clara said.

He waited.

“The receipt says Steve bought paper towels,” she said. “But I hardly found any when I cleaned up. There were a few sheets left on a roll in the kitchen. That’s it.”

Musil glanced at the receipt. “This says he bought a pack of six.”

“Yes.”

“Might he have stored some away? In a closet, possibly? A kitchen cabinet?”

“I looked everywhere around the house, Agent. All his closets, the garage, the basement. I told you how Steve is very organized. So when I noticed the roll in the kitchen was low, I expected he’d have some fresh ones around.”

“And you couldn’t find them.”

“Not one,” Clara said. “Who uses up six rolls of paper towels over a single weekend?”

Musil had found himself wondering the same thing. Then he pictured the squirrel with its cheeks full of foraged food. It seemed to have gotten them stored away inside the house. He wasn’t so sure about Gelfland’s groceries on Thanksgiving eve.

Back out on the walk, Musil thanked Clara for her helpfulness and promised to be in touch. He was eager to get back to headquarters, put his turbaned head together with Ki Marton’s bald one and see if they could figure anything out between them.

“If there’s anything else I can do, please give me a call,” she said. Then sighed, a long string of breath that seemed to pull her shoulders down as it left her mouth. “I feel kind of selfish, you know.”

He shook his head. “I’m not certain I understand.”