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I set down the mug and took the lid off the box. I piled the files on my desk, removed the false cardboard “floor,” and took out the mailing pouch. I crossed to the near corner, pulled back a flap of carpeting, and opened my floor safe. I had to bend one end of the mailing pouch in order to make it fit, but it seemed like a better idea than leaving it where it was. I locked the safe, put the carpet back in place, and pressed it flat with my foot. I repacked the files and set the box on the floor near my office door.

I’d just settled at my desk when I heard the door in the outer office open and close. “I’m in here,” I called.

The man who appeared in the doorway looked familiar. Offhand, I couldn’t place him, but I pegged him as a cop of the plainclothes variety. Late thirties, nice-looking, with a long, narrow face and hazel eyes.

“Detective Nash,” he said, introducing himself. He opened his coat to reveal his badge, but I confess I didn’t peer closely enough to commit the number to memory. This was because his badge was attached to his belt in close proximity to his fly, and I didn’t want to seem too interested. “Sorry to barge in unannounced,” he went on.

“Not a problem,” I said. I stood and we shook hands across the desk. “Have we met before? You look familiar.”

He handed me a business card that identified him as Sergeant Detective Spencer Nash, of the investigative division of the Santa Teresa Police Department. “Actually we have. Mind if I sit?”

“Sorry. Of course. Be my guest.”

Detective Nash took one of my two visitors’ chairs and gave the place a cursory assessment while I did the same with him. He wore dark slacks and a blue dress shirt with a tie, but no sport coat. “You used to be over on State Street. The nine hundred block.”

“That was six years ago. I was working for California Fidelity Insurance in exchange for office space. Did our paths cross back then?”

“Once, in passing. There was a homicide in the parking lot. I was a beat officer and first at the scene.”

I felt a small flash of recollection and an image of him popped up. I pointed. “A claims adjuster was shot to death. I’d just driven up from San Diego and stopped by the office to drop off some files. You were manning the crime scene tape when I asked for Lieutenant Dolan. I remember you had a little divot right here in your front tooth.”

Dimples appeared as he ran his index finger across his front teeth. “I had it fixed the next week. I can’t believe you remember.”

“A quirk of mine,” I said. “How’d you chip it?”

“Bit down on a piece of floral wire. My wife was making a wreath with pine cones and one of those Styrofoam rings. You wouldn’t think a little nick would be so conspicuous, but I felt like a redneck every time I opened my mouth.”

“That’s what you get for being helpful,” I remarked. “Bet your mom told you not to use your teeth for stuff like that.”

“Yes, she did.”

I glanced at his card. “You’ve moved up in the world.”

“I work property crimes these days.”

I half expected him to take out a pen and notebook, getting down to the business at hand, but he was apparently content to take his time. Meanwhile, I reviewed my behavior, doing a quick scan of present and past sins. While I’m occasionally guilty of violating municipal codes, I hadn’t done anything lately. “Was there a burglary in the neighborhood?”

“I’m here about something else.”

“Not something I did, I hope.”

“Indirectly.”

I thought, Shit, now what?

He took his time, probably deciding how much he wanted to share. “A marked bill was passed in this area a week ago.”

I watched him, waiting for the rest of it.

“We believe it came from you.”

“Me? I don’t think so,” I said.

“Do you remember using cash for a transaction on the sixth?”

“No. You want to give me a hint?”

“I could, but I’d prefer not to color your recollection.”

“What’s to color? I don’t remember anything of the sort.”

“Take your time.”

I was getting annoyed. “What kind of bill? Five, ten, a twenty?”

He jerked his thumb upward.

“A hundred? I don’t carry hundreds. They’re useless. Too hard to change.”

I was about to go on when an “uh-oh” popped to mind. I leaned forward and squinted. “Are you talking about the hundred-dollar bill I used to pay for groceries last week?”