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look.
    ‘I don’t.’ She went back to hanging her lights. ‘I get . . . moody.’
    ‘Oh. Is that what they’re calling it now?’
    ‘Whatever.’
    I didn’t have to see her eye roll in order to know she was giving me one.
    I scanned down the information she’d compiled, noticing a couple of names I didn’t give her.
    ‘Why’d you run these?’
    ‘New program. Gives you associates, et cetera. Thought you might need it.’ She popped her gum. ‘What’s going on with Abramopoulos? You working for him?’
    Probably I should tell her. Probably she could help.
    Probably I was a little miffed at her and didn’t feel like it at the moment.
    ‘You gonna leave that damn dog in here all day like you did last time?’
    I looked to see Muffy had grabbed a hold of a piece of garland and was running it around and around my ankles.
    Great.
    All things being equal? I’d prefer to eat Christmas turkey, not be trussed up like one.
    ‘Maybe,’ I answered non-committally as I clumsily extricated myself from the garland and went back into the office.
    ‘Oh, call your mom,’ Rosie said. ‘She left at least five messages.’
    ‘I will.’
    ‘Now.’
    ‘Soon.’
    ‘Call her or I tell her all about that hot Australian guy always hanging out here looking for you.’
    I stared at her over the paper. ‘You wouldn’t dare.’
    She flashed a dimpled grin. ‘Try me.’
    I closed the door, leaving both her and Muffy to do to the outside office what they would.
    Then I went to my desk and called my mother.

Five
     
    ‘Hey, watch it! You’re going to scratch baby Jesus!’
    I grimaced. Lord forbid I should do irreparable harm to baby Jesus.
    A half hour after I ushered Mrs Claus out of the office I reviewed the list Rosie had printed up, my mother’s voice still echoing in my head (how did mothers do that?), my morning agenda roughly sketched out, and I made myself my second frappé of the morning. In order to do so, I had to move a couple of Rosie’s manger animals from the top of the filing cabinets to make room.
    ‘Is there an inch in this place that isn’t taken up by Christmas decorations?’ I muttered under my breath, deciding to wait for my frappé until after the client Rosie was talking to left.
    ‘I don’t understand how no one’s been able to find anything,’ said a woman I guessed to be somewhere around thirty-five to forty said, seated in the chair next to Rosie’s desk. She wore nice tan slacks and a beige sweater, her blonde hair revealing a recent visit to the salon. I resisted the urge to touch my own neglected brown hair and listened as she said, ‘Five PIs and a shitload of money. And now you guys. It’s been two months. Surely you should have found something by now.’
    I was familiar with the case. I also knew that up until this point, all of our efforts had been for naught. Lois Kent would call, we’d follow her husband Clark, and get no more than her husband sitting in a bar having a drink or five.
    I briefly caught Rosie’s gaze as I headed back to the office as she said, ‘You know, there is a chance he’s not cheating on you, Mrs Kent. Have you considered that? I mean, I know, right? We women are pretty good with this stuff. We can smell another woman before he’s even touched her . . .’
    I went into my office.
    ‘I know he’s cheating. I just know it.’
    The agency had a high success rate when it came to both serving court papers and cheating-spouse cases. Rare was the occasion when we didn’t deliver the goods.
    The front door opened and I watched the star server enter.
    Pamela Coe gave me a wave and I waved back. She was tall and blonde and attractive and had a track record no one could match. Well, up until recently, that is. She’d worked for the agency long before I signed on, and while I sometimes wondered why she didn’t appear interested in expanding her duties at the agency, I respected that she’d chosen her job and did it well. And, the truth was, even though I met