“She said something I didn’t quite catch. I said, ‘Are you going home now?’ and she said—well, you know how you hear something all wrong? I heard her say, ‘I mean to putter around the mix,’ which I know is wrong. I heard it wrong. I remember that I tried for an hour to figure out what she really said, because it kind of bothered me. Then when she was killed, I thought about it some more, because it might be important. But the police never came around asking, thank God. I’m thinking maybe I missed the last word, so it’s the mixed something.”

Betsy thanked her and hung up.

“ ‘I mean to putter around the mix’?” echoed Godwin, when she repeated it to him. “What does that mean?”

“Irene Potter is next,” said Betsy. She had opened her mouth to say she had no idea what Margot meant, and instead that came out.

Godwin stared at her.

“Margot was my sister, Godwin,” she said. “I can understand her better than some secretary, even if she’s not speaking to me.”

“You are good! So, are you going to go see Irene instead of going to the museum?”

Betsy hesitated. “Both,” she said. “The museum first, because it may be hard to get away from Irene.” She picked up the file folder. “Is there anything odd about this?” she said, spilling the silk onto the desk.

Godwin came for a look. “I don’t know. I’d think they were the colors for the horse, except these two families are so different.”

“Would they be like samples?” asked Betsy. “I mean, there isn’t enough here to do the entire horse, is there?”

“Probably not, although you get more loft from silk and so don’t need as much of it as you’d need of cotton. These are more likely samples, to see which family came closer to the actual horse—Margot liked to match colors as closely as she could. But then why not a selection of yellows for the mane, or whites for the saddle? The ground was a light tan, I remember, but that wouldn’t matter as much, since she wasn’t matching a real wall or drapery.” He checked his watch. “If you’re gonna visit the museum, arid flirt with Mr. Earlie, you’d better get a wiggle on.”

“Goddy!”

“I know, I’m incorrigible.”

Betsy got directions from Godwin and set off. She was halfway there before it occurred to her that she wasn’t exactly dressed to kill. Oh, well, she thought, better he learns now that I’m not the clotheshorse Margot was.