“Isn’t that expensive?”

“Quite.”

“So if Hallie hired a stager to furnish the house short-term, who paid for it?”

“She would have, I guess, though the cost would have been prohibitive. I believe you said this was for one night, yes?”

“More or less. I met her at the house last Monday and there was stuff everywhere. Now it’s empty,” I said. “Why prohibitive?”

“A stager has to maintain a large inventory of furniture because they’re often handling eight or ten big houses at the same time. Part of their overhead is the warehouse space for items not in use. That gets factored in to the client’s overall cost. There’s also the expense of moving furniture into a house and then out again at the end of a contract. In this case, that’s a lot of time and effort.”

“I wonder if any of the neighbors saw the moving van?”

“In that area? Doubtful. On the other hand, all she had to do was create the illusion of furnished rooms. How much of the house did you actually see?”

“Not much, now that you mention it. The furniture in the living and dining rooms were largely covered in tarps. I guess there could have been old cardboard boxes under them.”

“Sleight of hand,” she said.

“I can’t believe I fell for it.”

“You’re fortunate in one respect. Under ordinary circumstances, you wouldn’t have caught on to the trick at all. You’d have tracked down the information, sent off your report, and that would have been the end of it. If that police detective hadn’t come into your office with the story about the marked bills, you’d still be in the dark.”

“You think there’s any point trying to find the stager?”

“Probably not. We all know one or two, but there’s no formal list. Hallie either paid handsomely or the stager was doing her a personal favor. It’s also possible she didn’t need outside help at all. She might have brought in all the items from home.”

I said a bad word, but Catherine Phillips never flinched. This is probably what comes of having a grown son who works for the police department.

Soon afterward, I rounded out our chat with a few incidental questions and then excused myself. I didn’t see any point in talking to Nancy Harkness. Catherine Phillips had been more than generous with her time, and my curiosity was tapped out. “Hallie Bettancourt” had taken me for a ride for reasons that eluded me. I’d have to give the situation some serious thought before I decided what to do next. In light of the hundred-dollar bill I’d forfeited, I was already in the hole, and I couldn’t see what there was to be gained by pushing the point.

When I passed the front desk on my way out, Kim Bass, Receptionist, was nowhere to be seen. This was fortunate, as I was so irritated with the way she’d treated me, I might have bitten her on the arm. I’d been a biter as a kid and I can still remember the feel of flesh between my teeth. It’s like biting a rubber bathing cap, in case you’re curious.