She asked, “Did you recognize Irene when you saw her?”

“I was pretty sure it was her. That’s why I ducked out.”

“Tell me your version of what happened.”

He did; it didn’t vary much from Irene’s story, so she thanked him and left.

After she was gone, he told his secretary he did not want to be disturbed, then locked the door and went into his strong room for a silver restorative.

When Betsy got back to the shop, it was going on four. Godwin was completing the sale of Marilyn Leavitt-Imblum’s Song of Christmas counted cross-stitch graph and the yarns to complete it. “You’ll need bugle beads for the candles on the tree,” he was saying, leading the customer to the big metal box that held little drawers full of beads.

And Shelly was talking with a customer who was interested in using DMC floss instead of Paternayan three-ply persian on a project. “Let’s see what Fiber Fantasy says is the equivalent color of Paternayan 501,” Shelly was saying.

Betsy stood near the doorway a moment, thinking she really ought to go to church and thank God for competent help. And while she was there, she could apologize to Reverend John for thinking badly of him. Which reminded her, she needed to call Paul Huber at the funeral home and apologize to him, too.

The door went bing and she hastened out of the way. Jill came in with, of all things, an oar in one hand. She went right past Betsy, saying over her shoulder, “Follow me.” She was wearing old jeans and a sweatshirt, but was nevertheless exuding cop authority, and Betsy obediently followed out the back door into the hall that led to the back entrance.

“What, what’s the matter?” asked Betsy when Jill at last stopped and turned around.

“This is an oar,” said Jill.

“Yes, I can see that.” It wasn’t broken, and so wasn’t Joe Mickels’s oar.

“Look at the oarlock.”

Betsy obeyed, and even reached out to note how the thing was attached, which was through the oar so that it could swivel. “I can see how it might be difficult to swing it so that the spike is driven into someone’s skull,” said Betsy.

“And, that spike is too thick and too long to have done that injury,” said Jill.

“Interesting. But I already don’t think Joe murdered my sister.”

“You don’t?” Jill put the oar down. “What changed your mind?”

Betsy explained, concluding, “Still, it’s interesting about the oar. You’re sure the spike is too big?”

“The autopsy report said the spike was not more than an inch and a half long. And the injury to Margot’s skull was fairly small, only an inch or so across. But that doesn’t mean the weapon was that small. It depends on whether or not the weapon sank to its full diameter.”