“I know. That’s why I thought it was a policeman at the door.”

Betsy said, “From here to the lake is quite a walk in bad weather. Does she do that sort of thing often?”

The old man cleared his throat, clearly disapproving of the direction this talk was going. His wife shot him a look that made him decide he’d be more comfortable elsewhere. He tottered out without saying a word, but she waited until she heard a door close before turning back to Betsy.

“Miss Potter is a great one for walking. Part of it is necessity, of course; she never learned to drive. But part of it is plain contrariness. The worse the weather, the more she likes to be out in it. But I must say it agrees with her, she never gets so much as a sore throat.”

“So you saw her go out that night? Do you know what time she left?”

“No, I was out myself, at my granddaughter’s house. They just bought this place out in Shorewood, and it’s a wreck. Needs everything, from paint to plumbing. So I was out there scrubbing and painting and watching the greatgrandkids.” She drew herself up a little. “Got three of ‘em now.”

“Congratulations,” said Betsy.

“You’re the one who thinks the police are barking up the wrong tree with their burglar theory, aren’t you? Do you really think Miss Potter might have done it?”

“Right now I suspect everyone.”

“Yes, that’s probably smart, though I don’t think your sister had many enemies. What were you going to ask Miss Potter?”

“If I could see some of her needlework. I’ve seen one or two pieces, but I keep hearing how wonderfully talented she is.”

The old woman frowned in puzzlement.

“You see, I’m not trying to prove Irene murdered my sister, I’m trying to find out the truth. If Irene is innocent, I want to make use of her expertise. She’s already given me some intelligent suggestions about running the shop. And my sister kept some of her work on display as an inspiration to her customers.”

“I could loan you something of hers. Wait here a minute.” She left the room and soon Betsy could hear heated conversation, cut off by a closing door. Then the woman was back with a square pillow. “Is this the kind of thing you want to display?” she asked, and handed it to Betsy.