To ease her worries, I offered her one of my stock of gracious smiles. Gracious smiles, along with my wafting walk, were part of my act. “There is no danger now, Mrs. Bissel. You need fear nothing in the daylight.” As for the rest of the time, darned if I could tell her anything at all.

“I’m so glad.” She expelled a gusty sigh.

I puttered around in the basement for a while longer, searching for any sign other than the empty Franco American spaghetti tin and the damp bowl that someone had been residing there. Don’t ask me why I lifted the lid of the washing machine and peered inside, because I don’t have an answer. All I know is that I did lift the lid, and I peered inside.

“Is your laundry done on one specific day of the week, Mrs. Bissel?”

“What? Laundry? Why, yes, the laundry is done on Monday. Cynthia Oversloot comes in to help Ginger every Monday.”

“Ah. And is the dirty laundry kept somewhere in particular until Monday rolls around?”

“The dirty laundry? Why, yes. The maids throw it down the laundry chute, and it lands in a basket.” She pointed to a big wicker basket set against the wall, above which a black hole loomed. “See? There’s the basket and the chute.”

“Ah.” I wafted over and saw that the basket held almost nothing, probably because today was Wednesday. “I see.”

“Why? Have you found something?

“No,” I fibbed. “I just wondered. You say no one uses the washing machine except on Mondays?”