She called to her mother, who took over at the register while Katy unerringly steered me directly to the book, which was next to a 1948 high school science textbook. All the other works on the shelf appeared to be science fiction or relatives of science fiction.

“I give up,” I said. “Why’s the textbook here?”

“This science book has a few pages in it that espouse some pretty silly ideas about radiation. Austin says this shelf is where we should have works about what happens when scientists don’t fully understand the impact of their discoveries.”

With Katy’s help, I found an old edition of Jane Austen’s Emma, and decided to buy it for Barbara, quite sure that she would never get the hint it might offer about sticking one’s nose in where it doesn’t belong.

Katy found a few books on mythology for me as well. Hermes, or Mercury, was pictured on the cover of one of them. It sparked a memory, and I reached into my coat pocket and pulled out the message slip I had taken from E.J. Blaylock’s office. Hobson Devoe.

“Could I use your phone for a local call, Katy?”

She nodded, and I followed her back to the front counter. The phone was made of black metal and had a rotary dial. “I’ll bet it really rings, too,” I said.

She smiled. “Yes. I like it better than an electronic chirping.”

I called the number on the message slip. I got a recording. A woman’s silky voice, saying, “Thank you for calling the Mercury Aerospace Museum. The museum will be closed for the holidays from Monday, December 17 through Tuesday, January 1. The museum will reopen on Wednesday, January 2. Museum hours are ten A.M. to three P.M. on weekdays; other hours by appointment. To make an appointment, please press the pound sign, located below the number nine on your Touch-Tone phone. If you are calling from a rotary dial telephone, or wish to speak to an operator, please stay on the line.”

I waited. And waited. I feared my call was a captive in that strange electronic dimension where transferred calls wander without direction until the end of time. I finally heard a voice say, “Mercury Aircraft. How may I direct your call?”

“I’m trying to reach Hobson Devoe-” I began.

“One moment,” she interrupted, and transferred me right back to the recording about the museum.

I hung up, muttering to myself, but softly enough to hear Katy clear her throat.

“I couldn’t help overhearing,” she said. “You want to talk to Hobson Devoe?”

“Yes. Do you know him?”

“I’m assuming there aren’t too many Hobson Devoes in Las Piernas. But if he’s the one who works at Mercury, he’s one of my great-grandfather’s friends.”

“Austin knows Hobson Devoe?”

She nodded. “Austin’s taking a nap now, but when he wakes up, I could tell him you need to talk to Mr. Devoe. I’m sure he’d be happy to pass a message along.”

I took out a card and wrote my home number on it. “Please ask him to tell Mr. Devoe that it’s urgent that I speak to him. I’d consider it a great favor.”

She waved a hand in dismissal. “Remember that column you and Mr. O’Connor wrote about the store? Back when the city wanted to tear down this building?”

“It made more sense for the city planners to put the convention center where it is now, anyway,” I said. “They probably wouldn’t have stayed with the plan to close the store down.”

“Well, that’s not how we see it. You kept us from being closed down while they made up their minds. Austin will be happy to do a favor for you. Mr. Devoe is in here quite often. Austin talks to him about Las Piernas in the good old days. I like to listen to them – I love history. I’m thinking of majoring in it.”

“Are you dating anybody special these days, Katy?” I asked, thinking of Steven Kincaid. She blushed, then, as she rang up my purchases on the antique cash register, proceeded to describe her boyfriend. I had to admit that he sounded like a perfect match for her.

She paused and looked at me over the top of the register. “He knows how to find the books,” she said, pushing down the keys that made the bell ring, the cash drawer open, and the total-with-tax appear behind dusty glass.

Well, that settled that.

I went along to other downtown shops and picked up gifts for almost everyone else on my list. I bought a couple of pairs of sweatpants for Frank from Nobody Out, a sporting goods store. Helen, my favorite salesperson there, was working that afternoon, and I briefly considered introducing her to Steven. She’s a college student, very bright, and gorgeous. Closer to Steven’s age than Katy. She’s not stuck on herself, and I can’t understand why.

Then I thought about the book I had just bought for Barbara and decided to stay out of the matchmaking business. I wished her happy holidays and left without mentioning available males.

I lugged all of my purchases back to the Express and piled them into the Karmann Ghia. I drove home, then walked next door to talk to Jack. I needed his help with my plans for a gift I had in mind for Frank, and he was willing to lend a hand. As we drove off together toward the animal shelter, he asked me if I was sure Frank wanted a dog, given all the work Frank did on the yard.

“Oh, sure. We had a long talk about dogs the other night. I know he wants one, or I wouldn’t do this.”

“Don’t you think it would be better to let him pick out the one he wants?”

“Well, I did wonder about that, but I think I’ve got a pretty good idea of what kinds of dogs he likes best.”

“Hope you’re right.”

“If he doesn’t like the dog I pick out, I’ll just tell him it’s my dog.”

For some reason, Jack found this funny.

There were lots of people touring the pound that day, the last day the city animal shelter was open before Christmas. After Jack and I went through all of the kennels, and he had finally convinced me that owning eighty-seven dogs would not be practical, we found a huskie-shepherd mix that won my heart. I paid the fees and bought a leash. Fortunately, the dog was already neutered, so we didn’t have to wait three days to take him. He was not quite done with being a puppy; the shelter said he was about a year old. He had a long, creamy coat, a dark muzzle, and big feet. He was very affectionate.

“I’ll tell you what, Irene,” Jack said as we tried to get the dog to crawl in behind the seats. “If Frank won’t let you keep him, bring him over and I’ll adopt him.”

That made me feel much more at ease, and I thanked Jack. I was mortified when the dog showed his gratitude by getting carsick on Jack’s right shoulder on the way home, but Jack graciously took it in stride.

“What are you going to name him?” Jack asked when we finally pulled up in front of the house.

“Frank gets to name him. His family has a knack for naming pets.”

If Jack thought that was an odd compliment to give to the Harrimans, he didn’t say so. I gave the pooch a good-bye scratch on the ears and let Jack take him home. Knowing Frank’s schedule, I figured the ever-observant detective could be kept from discovering the new dog in Jack’s backyard for a day or two at the most. And not wanting to abuse Jack’s generous offer to temporarily stable the mutt, I wasn’t willing to leave the dog at his house much longer than that. So we arranged that Jack would keep an eye on the dog until late the next night, when Frank and I got home from the party. Jack’s a night owl, so he was likely to be awake no matter when we got home.

I made a quick trip to the local market and bought dog food, bowls for food and water, and a rawhide chewbone. Jack had changed shirts and was playing with the dog by the time I brought all of this by his place.

“By the way, Jack, did Frank ask you if you had seen anyone around our place late last night?”

“Yes, he did. But no, I’m sorry, Irene. Your sister called me and we went out to grab something to eat at Bernie’s last night. I guess it was right around the time the jerk broke into your house. I feel bad about it.”