One advantage to working for Nero Wolfe is a near-complete immunity to Christmas. I have nothing against Christmas, and have been known to take small doses of it from time to time on purpose, but I can do without the commotion, and Wolfe feels the same way. There has never been a Christmas tree in Wolfe's home. No carols have been heard within those walls. We exchange gifts, and that's as far as Christmas goes.

So I knew right away that when Wolfe saw what Fritz had cooked up for a centerpiece, there were going to be words about it later. Decorations are not a normal feature of Wolfe's table. I'm not sure what got into Fritz, and I never did remember to ask him. I know he did it on purpose, because he put it out late, just before the guests arrived. I saw it as I passed through to ask if Fritz needed any last-minute help, but Wolfe wouldn't see it until he led the guests in. It was a arrangement of six red cymbidiums ... atop a bed of holly and mistletoe sprigs. When Wolfe saw it, he raised his eyebrows a full quarter-inch, and set his mouth, but he wasn't going to say anything in front of the guests. All three of the ladies present admired it, which didn't help a bit.

Wolfe didn't often have strangers at his table in the first place. Lewis Hewitt had talked him into it. In addition to Hewitt and his wife, there were three other guests: Bill Morse, a tall skinny specimen around forty but looking older due to vanishing hair and early wrinkling, a botanist and the reason Wolfe had agreed to the dinner; Abby Reiss, also around forty but looking younger, mostly because of short spiky blue hair and a nose piercing; and Cait Birch, Morse's research assistant, in her thirties, with sleek shoulder-length black hair and an expression which said she was so bored with everything she was having a hard time keeping herself from falling asleep.

Hewitt introduced Reiss as Morse's "significant other." Wolfe might have held it in if he hadn't already been annoyed by the centerpiece. Reiss noticed. "Is it the phrase you object to, Mr. Wolfe," she said quietly as she sat down, "or my appearance?" Personally, I was trying not to hold her appearance against her, even if I didn't understand why anyone would go to that much trouble to look like a college student. If she could read Wolfe's microscopic frown, she had something inside her skull that most twenty-year-olds don't have.

Wolfe was determined not to be rude to a dinner guest. "My apologies," he said. "I admit I find the phrase distasteful, although Mr. Goodwin will remind me that I have yet to arrive at a better one. 'Partner' implies a business relationship and is even more unappealing in the context." He sat down and gestured to Fritz to bring in the oysters Roffignac.

Reiss might have kept the talk on language, but as far as Wolfe was concerned there was only one topic. Morse had been working on breeding orchids whose extracts could be used to treat cancer, had published two papers that had made him one of the star attractions of his university's research budget, and Wolfe intended to pick his brain.

As for my brain, it can only listen to orchid talk for so long before it checks out, so I was giving most of my energy to watching the guests. If I hadn't been told, I might not have figured out that Reiss and Morse were a couple; there were none of the little physical habits of people who've been intimate for a while. Maybe I'd have seen some if Reiss were saying anything, but she was as bored with orchids as I was. Also, there was a freeze on. Two things had been clear from the minute the three of them sat down: Birch, under her sleepy face, was trying very hard to be cozy with Morse, and Reiss was not thrilled about it.

Wolfe was enjoying the argument he'd started about aesthetics versus utility (Morse had made the mistake of admitting he didn't care what orchids actually looked like) so much that he invited everyone into the office for a drink after dinner just so he could keep it going. As they filed out, I ducked into the kitchen to tell Fritz I couldn't help clean up because I would be needed to play bartender. When I passed back through the dining room, my eyes noticed something wasn't like it had been a moment ago, but my brain couldn't tell what it was yet. I filed it away to figure out later.

-----

The next morning, sitting in the kitchen with my newspaper and orange juice, I found a small story in the "last night's bad news" section. A woman named Caitlyn Birch. I had guessed a little low on her age; she had been thirty-eight. Her body had been found less than three blocks from Wolfe's house.

The location alone might not have done it, but Morse and Reiss would be the first two people the police would talk to, so I wasn't surprised when I went to answer the front door at ten a.m. and saw Inspector Cramer through the glass.

He was in a good mood, greeting me politely and letting me take his hat, so once he'd been seated in the office I thought I might as well respond in kind. "I'll save you some time," I said. "None of them did or said anything suspicious, though Reiss and Birch didn't think much of each other. Wolfe talked to Morse about orchids all night. The three of them left together. None of them were carrying daggers or blunt instruments."

Anyone else would have taken the gift in the spirit intended, but not Cramer. "You can't say anything without clowning, can you?" he said. "What about stockings? Did you check for those?"

I raised an eyebrow.

"Or a silk scarf. Panty hose. She was strangled, and not with something rough. You can have that, since you're so cooperative this morning."

"I try not to stare at a woman's legs unless invited," I said. "Anyway, Birch was wearing pants. Though I suppose she could have been wearing stockings under them. Of course you'll be after Reiss. Unless you have a reason for Morse--" I stopped because Cramer had gotten up and was already almost out into the hall. Then I nearly ran into him, because he stopped short and had turned around to come back into the office again.

"You and Wolfe don't go in for hanging mistletoe, I don't guess," he said.

I tried to give him the poker face but for once I didn't manage it.

"Yeah, that's what I thought," he said, and took his hat and left before I could open the door for him.

-----

When Wolfe came down from the orchids, I reported the conversation. He didn't react or look up from opening the mail, although when I got to the mistletoe remark he said, "I must remember to speak to Fritz about that." Meaning the centerpiece.

It wasn't surprising. It was December and the bank account was in fine form; he had no reason to work until next year, and I had to admit it was barely a case, even if we'd had a client. Force of habit. But a little after lunch, when Wolfe and I were both sitting in the office, him reading, me meditating on the universe and whether I should go take in a movie, the doorbell rang. I went to see who it was and went back to the office.

"Abby Reiss," I said to Wolfe. "Looks like she's had a long morning with Cramer."

"Show her in," he replied.

He surprises me all the time, even after all these years. Since I knew full well he wasn't going to take her as a client, and he didn't ask women in for interviews just for the joy of it, he wanted something from her, but damned if I knew what.

"Ms. Reiss," he said, giving her the tiny nod he thought was a greeting. "Please sit down. Did the police give you anything to eat?"

"What?" she said. "Oh. Yes, I had a sandwich. Thank you." She had on different clothes, so they hadn't brought her in until this morning. She looked and sounded like she hadn't slept, though. "Mr. Wolfe, I didn't kill Cait, but the police think I did."

"In their position," he said, "wouldn't you say it was understandable? Unless you are prepared to offer them a compelling alternative. It was obvious to everyone present yesterday evening that there was no love between yourself and Ms. Birch. I assume she was overly familiar with your ... there, you see, we encounter this difficulty again. Overly familiar with Mr. Morse."

"I've never seen the point in marriage, Mr. Wolfe," she said. "Neither has Bill. That said, we have been together twelve years. It does mean something, even if there isn't a good way to say it."

"I wasn't being disparaging," Wolfe replied. "Only remarking on the usage issues. So my assumption is correct?"

"Overly familiar, yes, that's one way to put it. I'm not sure just how familiar, but it's definitely overly. Last week we were at a Christmas party for his department, and they had mistletoe up, over a doorway, and she pulled him under it for a kiss. Mr. Wolfe, this wasn't a friendly party-game kind of kiss. This was the way two people kiss if they're planning to climb into bed together ... or if they already have. You know, I don't actually care. He can go to bed with whoever he wants. But trying to cover it up--if he'd just told me, that would have been different!"

"How did you react?" Wolfe said.

"I yelled at him," she admitted. "Right there in front of everybody. There must have been thirty people who saw me do it. I guess the police will have heard about that. But I didn't kill her! I don't think I could ever kill anybody, even with a much better reason."

Wolfe scowled. "Why have you come to me?"

She stared at him. "I want to hire you! I thought that was obvious."

"Yes, but to hire me for what purpose? To prove you innocent of murder? In order to do that--to prove that you didn't--I will need to establish who did. It could be extremely difficult, it will almost certainly be expensive, and, given that the police have insufficient grounds to prosecute you, may not actually be necessary."

"You don't think they do?"

"If they had a case against you," I said, "you'd have been held. Or you'd be arranging bail right now."

Wolfe nodded. "Eventually, unless they discover something compelling, the investigation will be dropped. Since you have an alibi for the time of the murder--"

"No, I don't," she said.

Wolfe was caught off-guard, but I don't think she could have spotted it. "You left here with Mr. Morse and Ms. Birch. Obviously Ms. Birch must have parted company with you not long after that. Are you saying you didn't continue home with Mr. Morse?"

"No. We had an argument. He accused me of behaving horribly at dinner and I said I was surprised he had even noticed, and it got worse from there. I took the subway home. I don't know how he got home, but he got there less than a half hour after I did. I pretended to be asleep when he got home because I didn't want to talk about it."

He was scowling. "I assume the police are aware of this."

"Yes, they asked me and I figured it would be worse to lie about it."

He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. He wasn't pushing his lips in and out, so he wasn't off wherever he goes when he's doing his deep thinking. This was just run-of-the-mill thinking. He took two minutes, then opened his eyes again. "Ms. Reiss, if I investigate this matter, you should be aware that it may not end in answers you care for. I reiterate that you may not be at any risk as the situation currently stands. Do you still wish to pursue this?"

"Yes, I do."

"Do you have a one-dollar bill? Good. Give it to me ... thank you. You have just retained me, on a tentative basis. Understand that I am not an attorney and your conversations with me are not privileged. Nonetheless I am now engaged to determine who murdered Caitlyn Birch. I may not find out. If I succeed, we will discuss an appropriate fee. I promise to not exceed what you can reasonably pay. Please give Mr. Goodwin your address and telephone numbers."

She nodded. She also took the hint--not everyone does--and stood up.

After I had showed her out and was back at my desk, I said, "Are you going to ask me the odds?"

"Not necessary," he replied. "Her wrath, her disappointment, were directed entirely at Mr. Morse. If his infidelity were her motivation, she would have murdered him, not her. Also, despite her baffling attempts to appear unintelligent, she is not. This is not an intelligent murder."

"I suppose if you'd done it, no one would have found the body."

"Or you, for that matter," he said. "Three blocks in the opposite direction would have brought the murderer to a perfectly good river." He sat back, but didn't pick up his book, which meant there was still something he was chewing at.

"So the body was meant to be found, fine," I said. "The problem is finding another person to pin it on. I'm assuming we're not buying the idea that they both did it together and she's lying about the two of them splitting up. So that leaves him. Maybe whatever he had with Birch was going sour?"

"Archie," Wolfe said, "you shouldn't have to cajole a solution from me, not this time. Of course Mr. Morse did it. I don't know his motive, but that's irrelevant for the moment. These are not the important questions."

"I'll bite. What are the important questions?"

"First, why didn't Inspector Cramer intrude upon that interview? It is a certainty he knew she was here. Second, what is the significance of mistletoe?"

"Mistletoe?"

"You heard me. Get your notebook. I have instructions."

-----

My instructions involved spending the rest of that evening and all of the next day interviewing various people at the university where the three key parties worked--past tense, in the case of Cait Birch. Reiss was a staff assistant, doing paperwork, for the botany department. It wasn't a big department, and everyone knew all about the murder and was willing to cooperate with me as much as they could--which meant nothing because no one had anything to give. Other than a general impression I got that no one there was too torn up by Birch's death, it was a total waste.

There was one person I'd been told not to talk to. Morse didn't show up until late on the second day, just as I was getting ready to call it quits, and I only saw him in passing. He recognized me but said nothing and walked away, which was fine with me. He looked like he wasn't doing too well, and that was fine with me too.

On the way out of the building, I saw someone I recognized. No one who didn't know him would ever pick him out of a crowd. "The building has another door," I said conversationally.

"Fred's got it," Saul Panzer replied. "Anything I should know?"

"No. Keep an eye on him when he gets home, I'm starting to get worried about Ms. Reiss."

"He hasn't been back there. We got on his tail just as she was throwing him out. Or he was leaving. Hard to say. He stayed in a hotel last night. Besides, I spotted at least four police watching their house."

In a way it was a relief to know that Saul and Fred were keeping an eye out, but it also meant Wolfe was actually chasing something, and I still had no idea what. He might throw me at something just as a distraction or to keep me occupied, but he wouldn't do that with Saul. If he was paying Saul's rates, or even Fred's, he had a reason. But I couldn't find it. Instead my brain kept coming back to the remark about mistletoe.

Mistletoe ... it wasn't an answer, but there was something I hadn't finished connecting.

-----

When I got home, it was a few minutes after six, and I heard Cramer shouting in the office, which meant he had ambushed Wolfe only moments after Wolfe came down from the orchids, which meant Wolfe was probably steaming by now too. I ducked into the kitchen. "Fritz, I need to ask you about that centerpiece the other night."

"You as well? I meant it to be amusing, but Mr. Wolfe--"

"I know. His sense of humor is not like us mortals. What I want to know was, when you were clearing up, did you notice it had been disturbed? Tampered with, or rearranged?"

"Yes," he said. "I had bought three mistletoe and three holly, and there were only two mistletoe when I took it apart. I wondered if you had taken it, perhaps for Ms. Rowan?"

I grinned. "She's never needed encouragement," I said. "Thanks."

I entered the office, though I might as well have been invisible. Wolfe, to my surprise, wasn't angry at all, but Cramer was as red as I've ever seen him and was shouting over whatever Wolfe was saying, so Wolfe had stopped saying it and was now waiting for Cramer to run out of bluster. He never has been able to figure out that Wolfe can always out-stubborn him.

"As I was saying," Wolfe remarked when Cramer finally wound down, "you have absolutely no basis for assuming we're withholding anything, whereas I have every reason to believe you are withholding at least one thing. Of course it's your prerogative to withhold anything you like, but I will not be accused in my own home of violating the law. If you continue in that position, then you might as well arrest me. On the other hand, if you're willing to be reasonable, perhaps there is still a discussion to be had."

Cramer had never forgotten what had happened the last time he arrested Wolfe. He rediscovered the cigar he had in his hand, put it in his mouth and chomped down on it, and sat back in the chair. "I'm not obliged to give you anything, you know that. And since, despite what Goodwin told me, you have a client, who happens to be the main suspect--"

"Hold on," I said, "I never said any such thing. Come to that, you never asked. Anyway, we didn't have a client when you talked to me the other day."

"Inspector," Wolfe said, "I'm not sure why you're under the impression that our interests are adversarial. Aren't you operating in the interest of seeing justice done? So am I. So is Mr. Goodwin."

"You're operating in the interest of getting your client off the hook," Cramer growled. "I don't have a reason to tell you a damned thing."

What the hell, he'd just called me a liar and as far as I was concerned that meant he had it coming. "The police found mistletoe on the body," I said to Wolfe. "Probably pinned to it or something else that made it clear it was a message. The killer took it from that centerpiece the other night."

"From my table?" Wolfe said. "Intolerable."

"Who told you that?" Cramer demanded at the same time. "Damn it, we kept that quiet for a reason!"

"What reason was that?" Wolfe turned to Cramer. "Imbecility? No, don't interrupt, I'm speaking. This was your sole basis? This is why you let Ms. Reiss come to me, hoping I would do your job for you? This is beneath you, Inspector. You find mistletoe on the body, and you learn about the incident with mistletoe at the party, and so you assume that Ms. Reiss, rather than murdering her rival at a less obvious time and disposing of the corpse in one of a thousand untraceable ways, instead chose to perform the crime at a time and in a place that left very little doubt who could have done it, and then chose to deliberately attach an item which pointed suspicion inexorably at herself? Do you find this a reasonable assumption?"

"She meant for the body to be found," Cramer said, not backing down, "and the mistletoe was a message for Morse. She wanted him to know who killed her. Reiss and Morse had been together for years but Morse was spending all his time in the lab, and apparently a lot of time out of it, with Birch. People have done things a lot more stupid for less."

"I don't dispute that," Wolfe said drily, "but in this case your pursuing this theory to the exclusion of all others has led you into a mire. Have you bothered to investigate motives for Mr. Morse at all? Have you searched Ms. Birch's home? Have you even sent anyone to prevent it being tampered with? I speak rhetorically; I know you haven't, because since shortly after Ms. Reiss retained me, I've had someone following Mr. Morse specifically to keep him from removing anything from Ms. Birch's apartment. I'm sure he has a key to it; as you point out, he spent a significant portion of his time there."

"You don't have a damned thing but theories," Cramer said, but he was licked and he knew it.

"At this point, neither do you," Wolfe replied. "At any rate, the matter is out of my hands. I've told you everything I know, and my dinner hour is approaching."

When I came back to my desk after showing Cramer out, Wolfe had his eyes shut, and I was pretty sure he wasn't planning to say another word until dinner. But I was wrong. "Archie," he said, without opening them.

"Yes, sir."

"Inform Fritz that if he brings mistletoe into this house again, he's fired."

"Yes, sir."

"That goes for you too."

"Yes, sir."

-----

Three days later, Abby Reiss was sitting in Wolfe's office. "You're serious," she said.

"Ms. Reiss," Wolfe replied, "believe me, this is not munificence. My conscience will not permit it."

"Well, I won't say I don't appreciate it," she replied, standing up.

He looked at her through slitted eyes. "I did warn you."

"I didn't say anything," she replied.

"No, you didn't, but it was obvious from your manner. You're disillusioned, and upset. I won't apologize. I was engaged to find the truth."

"You know, it's not just claiming all her work as his, though that would be bad enough. He used her. He promised her a life that he wasn't planning on ever giving her. I think she really did think he was going to abandon me for her ... I can't tell if she was stupid or optimistic."

"She kept meticulous proof under lock and key, which, it seems to me, does not indicate optimism. Still, who knows? Perhaps she didn't think she would be believed. There is a case to be made for vigilant duty to one's own merits. Good afternoon, Ms. Reiss."

He was still staring at nothing in particular when I came back into the office.

"Stupidity," he said. "No, not stupidity. Unwillingness to examine fact. So, willful ignorance. Worse, perhaps."

"Do you mean Cramer, or Ms. Reiss?"

"Both. I pursued this strictly on the assumption that Cramer knew something significant. To have it exposed as the trifle that it actually was--Pfui. An utter waste of my mental resources. As for Ms. Reiss, she denied what her intellect informed her, because she had developed a habit of denying her own faculties. She knew who had committed the crime from the beginning. She threw him out of their home because she didn't want to lie with a murderer."

"All right, but you knew it was him from the beginning too."

"Yes. Anyone who would absolutely subsume beauty to utility in all circumstances is not to be trusted. But I'm not the police, Archie, nor am I his spouse."

"Not spouse. Significant other."

"I will not be baited, Archie," he said.

"Merry Christmas to you too," I replied.