“So it must be here somewhere,” Betsy concluded. She began to look through the several boxes of things still waiting to be sorted. Everyone, except Mrs. Lundgren of course, began searching the whole shop.

The search took a long while; they even emptied and sorted through the trash bags. It continued long after Mrs. Lundgren had given up and gone away. But at last Betsy called a halt. “It’s gone,” she said. “I told the police I thought nothing was taken in that burglary, but it appears I was wrong. Margot’s needlepoint T‘ang Dynasty horse is missing.”

Chapter 12

12

C‘mon, Mike, at least think about it! Maybe she’s got a point!“ said Jill, trying to keep her tone light and not sound wheedling or pushy. Which was hard when Detective Mike Malloy was patently not interested in her—or Betsy Devonshire’s—thoughts on the case.

“Ah, she’s just upset over her sister being murdered by some piece of trash, that’s all. Everyone thinks when someone important gets killed it’s some kind of plot or something. Even when she’s only important to them. But one of these days we’ll arrest some druggie or a punk kid and he’ll start in crying and tell us all about the store with yarn in it and the woman he offed in there.”

Mike wasn’t interested in hearing Jill’s opinion for two reasons. First, he was sure what he’d just said was correct. Second, he was also sure Jill wanted his job. On a small force like this one, even with only two investigators there was barely enough to do. Uniformed cops with ambition to make detective grade generally moved on to some big city, where openings happened. Cross was ambitious, but she wanted to stay in Excelsior. So naturally she wanted to show she had some ideas of her own.

Mike was ambitious, too—but when he moved up it would be to chief, if not here then in some other small town. Or maybe to sheriff in some out-of-state county.

That meant protecting his turf here and now. Which included not letting some street cop give everyone the idea he was going about this wrong.

On the other hand, Cross was female, so he had to be careful not to give the impression he thought she ought to turn in her badge for a bassinet—though she’d make a better mother than a cop, in his not so humble opinion. She should have a kid balanced on those hips, not a gun.

Jill, watching his eyes wander and thinking she could read his thoughts, tried to stifle a sigh.

Mike saw the sigh and misread it. Sensing victory, he became magnanimous. “How’s she doing, the sister?”

“Okay. Better, in fact. You going to talk to her again?”