So maybe there was something to Betsy’s insistence that there was more to this than Detective Mike Malloy was saying.

But if it wasn’t a burglar, then—who? To think Joe Mickels had turned into a murderer in order to break a lease—that was ridiculous!

Yes, yes, Joe wanted Margot out of his building. Jill recalled when Joe had made one of his early moves, thinking that if he got everyone else out, Margot would surrender. So he had sent out eviction notices and soon, except for Margot, the place was empty. Little good it did him. Margot was one of those short, thin women who looked like dandelion fluff, but who was actually made of steel. She wasn’t proud or needlessly stubborn, but she knew the real value of Crewel World: what it meant to the stitchers in the area, to the women of Excelsior—to all of Excelsior, really. She had come to her full strength and purpose after her husband died, and Joe had been a fool not to see that. He’d ended up getting new tenants for the other two stores, and new renters for the apartments. None of them seemed very worried about the month-to-month conditions under which they rented, probably because they were locals and knew something about Margot.

But greedy and impatient as Joe Mickels was, Jill couldn’t believe he’d resort to murder.

No, this was just Betsy wild to find closure, to get someone arrested. Jill was sure this was some peculiar form of mourning, that what she needed to do was cry her eyes out—Jill had a feeling Betsy hadn’t shed any tears over this yet—and then she’d straighten up.

But meanwhile, what if she called Mike?

Or contacted some reporter?

Lord, what a stink that would make!

Jill leaned sideways and lifted the receiver of the phone off its base on the end table. Dialing swiftly, she was rewarded with a busy signal, She disconnected, waited, and tried again. Still busy. She’d better get over there.

10

I rene Potter struggled with her harried nerves until finally a good and necessary calm came over her. This was her great opportunity, and she must not, must not, must not mess it up.

She began quite coolly to reason this out, to be sure she was right in her plan of action.

Margot was dead, dead and buried, any quarrel between them gone, forgotten.

Excelsior had had a needlework shop for a very long time, and it was not right to discontinue that tradition.

Betsy Devonshire might be Margot’s sister, but she didn’t even know how to knit, and Shelly had said she didn’t know anything at all about running a needlework shop.

Whereas Irene Potter knew everything about needlework, and almost everything about running a small business.

And she had over sixty thousand dollars in savings.

Therefore it was right, good, and proper that Irene should take over that shop.

Sixty thousand wasn’t really enough, of course. Though if Ms. Devonshire was as ignorant as she seemed to be, it might do. If not, then it would serve as a down payment.