“Oh, I most certainly do,” Beattie said. “Now, though, we need to get a writing sample to confirm.”
After a cursory search of the final rooms of the house that yielded nothing new, we carefully arranged everything as we found it, except we slipped the photo into the envelope with the notes and let Beattie slip the whole thing into her tote bag beside Butterball’s bag. He was sleeping soundly after all the excitement of watching us move around the house, and I was glad for him. And a bit envious too.
I thanked the officer outside in her car as we left.
“Find anything?” she asked with a smile.
I tried to look rueful as I said, “Not a thing that’s much use to the inspector, I’m afraid.” I shrugged, “but we did get some more information about MacDonald’s book collection that might help wit
