Still, it was interesting he was keeping abreast of her comings and goings. Or should she be flattered by his interest, rather than concerned?

She continued west to 100, south to 7, west to Excelsior. There, she drove around looking for Irene Potter’s house, whose address she had gotten from employee records.

Irene lived in a brown clapboard house that had not enjoyed the meticulous care of the houses around it. When Betsy reached the door, she saw a clumsily crayoned sign in the window indicating that this was a rooming house with a room for rent. She knocked on the door and an elderly, sad-faced man answered it and she asked for Irene Potter.

“She ain’t here,” he said.

“Is this her house?” asked Betsy.

“No, it’s mine. She just rents from us.”

“Who is it, Father?” called an old woman’s voice from the back.

“Someone wanting Miss Potter!” His voice, when he raised it, quavered.

“Let me talk to him.”

A plump woman with a face like one of those dried-apple carvings came to stand beside him. She wore a faded blue dress under a clean white apron, and her dark eyes were bright with intelligence.

“You’re not a policeman!” she said indignantly.

“No, I’m Margot Berglund’s sister. I’ve taken over her shop, Crewel World. Irene sometimes worked for my sister, and I wanted to talk to her.”

“She’s gone out.”

“So your husband was telling me. Do you know when she’ll be back?”

“Not much longer, I don’t think. She’s at church, one of the volunteers who helps cook Meals on Wheels.”

“How nice of her to do that. Do you know her very well? I take it you’re her landlady.”

“Yes, that’s right. But I don’t know her that well, though she’s been with us for years. She’s not one of the friendly ones.”

“Yes, I’m afraid that’s true. But she is very talented at needlework.”

The woman smiled. “She tried to show me how, but I just didn’t get it.”

Betsy smiled back in kind. “Me, too. Irene isn’t a very good teacher.”

“Won’t you come in?”

“Now, Mother—” said the old man.

“Shut up, Father.” The old woman led the way, saying, “It was terrible what happened to your sister. We don’t have murders in Excelsior, so this was a terrible shock. And of course it was even more terrible for you, being her sister.”

“Yes, it’s been a sad time.” The living room had too many couches and chairs, all well used. The woman gestured Betsy to an easy chair.

“Would you like a cup of tea?”

“No, thank you,” said Betsy. “Irene told me that she was out walking in the rain the night my sister was killed. In fact, she was near the shop about the time it happened.”