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crying.

“Get outta here!” Atwood snarled when DeZona stepped into the kitchen.

DeZona did, but not before taking the shot that was bound to push the mayor’s spectacular fall far off the Beantown Banner’s front page.

“I want my mommy,” Veronica insisted.

“Let’s see what we can do to find her,” Liz said. “While Officer Atwood looks around the house, why don’t we do some detective work? We’ll write down our clues in my notebook, OK?”

Veronica nodded as Liz began to take notes. Liz knew she had just minutes to spare before Atwood discovered she was a reporter or brought in a youth officer to take charge of the child. Then, too, although the Boston World had not thought the Newton City Hall hora worthy of their reporters’ time, no doubt they’d be onto the breaking news soon. Liz hoped the youth officer would take Veronica in hand before the World’s best and brightest darkened the door.

Avoiding direct mention of the kitchen, Liz asked, “When did you come home to the house, sweetie?”

“After school,” Veronica said. “I’m allowed to walk home on Tuesdays because that’s our afternoon.”

Liz recalled Ellen Johansson’s readiness to accompany her and Veronica to visit the first of seven Santas on a Tuesday afternoon. Ellen had said that was her “mother-and-daughter afternoon.” A librarian, Ellen worked one evening per week, while her husband, Erik, took over childcare, so she could have an afternoon each week to devote to her child. A protective mother, Ellen told Liz she only allowed her daughter to serve as the Banner’s Santa rater because the child dreamed of becoming a reporter, and because Liz was known to the after-school teacher whose program Veronica attended four afternoons a week. But even so, Ellen had insisted on tagging along on the first Santa visit.

Liz recalled how Ellen had paused as soon as the trio entered the mall and asked her daughter to look up at a sleigh and reindeer suspended from the ceiling.

“Do you notice how you can see that from almost anywhere in the mall?” Ellen had asked Veronica. “And do you see that there is a desk right underneath it where the mall lady is selling gift certificates? If we become separated, I want you to look for the sleigh and go there. You could also ask a lady with children to take you to the gift certificate desk. Remember, always ask for help from a lady who has children with her, okay?”

At the time, Liz complimented Ellen on the levelheaded advice and promised she would provide similar advice at every mall she visited with Veronica. Now, in the family’s living room, she returned her attention to the safety- conscious mom’s very bewildered daughter.

Still avoiding direct mention of Ellen, Liz asked, “Did you walk to school today, too? And what were you planning to do this afternoon?”

“No, my mom drove me,” Veronica said. “She says there’s too much traffic in the morning for me to walk. We were going to bake Christmas cookies after school. The kind you squish through the tube and decorate with chocolate.”

“Spritz cookies. My favorite!” Liz said, certain that rushing the child would be a big mistake. “Did your mom seem the same as usual this morning?”

Veronica wrinkled her brow. “What do you mean, Liz?”

Liz did not want to plant thoughts of any kind in the child’s mind.

“Just think carefully,” she said. “It will help us with our detective work if you noticed anything different about your mom today.”

Veronica rubbed her freckled nose in concentration. “I remember something! She didn’t wash her hair this morning. And she didn’t put on lipstick. My mom always takes a shower in the morning. And she always puts on lipstick. Every single day.”

When Liz wrote the information in the notebook, Veronica looked encouraged.

“Is that a clue? Will it help you find my mommy?”

“Everything you remember is a clue, Veronica,” Liz assured her. “Now, can you tell me if your mom did anything special lately?”

“Yeah, she was so happy to meet Nadia in New York City. They had lunch on the top of the tallest building in the world! I wanted to go there, too. But I couldn’t. I had school. But she took pictures!”

“Did you see the pictures?” Liz asked.

“No. She was gonna take the film to the camera store today. There it is!” Veronica said, pointing to a plastic film can on the telephone table. “Do you think there’s a clue in it? Would you take it to the camera store so we can see?”

Liz hesitated.

“Please?” Veronica begged.

“Okay, honey,” she said, and pocketed the film.

Hearing Atwood—who had been rummaging around upstairs—approach the room, Liz also pocketed her reporter’s notebook.

“Let’s call your dad,” she said, although she doubted she’d get the call through before Atwood entered the room. Fortunately, the policeman passed by and headed down the basement stairs instead. “How about you remind me of his number?” Liz asked. She had a record of Erik Johansson’s work number in her newsroom ATEX machine. Ellen had given it to her in case she could not be reached if something went wrong during the Santa visits. But Liz did not have the information with her.

“I can dial it!” Veronica said proudly. And she punched in the numbers with painstaking care, at a speed that made it easy for Liz to commit it to memory.

“I’d better talk to your dad first,” Liz said, hastening to take the receiver.

“Oh, yeah,” Veronica said, as the call went through. “I remember something else. The phone rang a lot last night. Over and over again.”

“Environmental Solutions. Erik Johansson here,” Veronica’s dad said over the phone.

“Mr. Johansson, this is Liz Higgins, the woman who took Veronica to visit the Santas,” Liz said, carefully avoiding any mention of the Banner as she heard Atwood come up the stairs.

“You can call me Erik,” Johansson said in a friendly tone. “What’s up? Do you need Veronica to rate New Year’s Eve noisemakers now?”

“I’m so sorry that’s not the case,” Liz said. “Veronica is okay, don’t worry. I’m with her at your house. But I have to tell you Ellen’s not home and there are signs of violence in your kitchen. Do you have any idea where Ellen might be?”

At the mention of the kitchen, Veronica let out a wail. “Daddy, Daddy, I want to talk to my daddy!”

“What?” Erik said. “I should have stayed home. I knew something wasn’t right. I’d better call the police.”

“They’re already here.”

“I’m coming home,” Erik said, hanging up before Veronica could say a word to him.

And before anyone else could, either. That included Atwood, youth officer Grace Houghton, and two crime scene officers who all burst into the Johanssons’ living room at the same time.

“Who were you talking to?” Atwood demanded.

“The husband,” Liz said. “He’s on his way from Lexington.”

“This is Liz Higgins, a family friend,” Atwood told the youth officer.

“The Banner reporter?” the officer asked. Apparently, she read the features about malls and dancing figs. But she was not amused. “Some coincidence that you’re a ‘family friend,’” she said cynically. “Why’d you let her in, Dan?” she asked Atwood.

“I had no idea she was a reporter,” he said, chagrined. “What do you think you’re up to?” he demanded, turning to Liz.

Again, Veronica saved the day. “She’s my friend,” she said. “We went to see the Santas!”

And then Veronica blew it.

“We’re going to solve the case. We wrote clues on the pad. We’re gonna find my mom.”

“Outta here!” Atwood barked at Liz. “And you, too!” he added, to the World’s whippersnapper reporter Mick Lichen, who poked his head through the door at that moment.

“I really do know this family,” Liz said. “Please let me stay with Veronica until her dad arrives.”

“No way,” Atwood said, taking her arm.