“Happy to try,” I said.
“There’s something I should have told Chief Burke. But I didn’t dare.”
“Why not?”
“I couldn’t possibly, in front of Mrs. Winkleson,” he said. “I’d lose my job. In fact, I’d still lose my job if I told him now and she found out. But you could tell him, and pretend you overheard it from one of the other rose growers or something. Keep my name out of it.”
“Tell him what?” I wasn’t going to promise anything until I heard what his hot information was.
He glanced left and right as if to make sure no one was within earshot. I stifled an exasperated sigh. Any savvy eavesdropper in the room would recognize the gesture immediately and begin creeping closer to overhear.
“She knew Sandy Sechrest a lot better than she’s letting on,” he said, almost too softly to be heard. “Most of the time she wouldn’t let anyone near the roses, except a couple of the garden staff who don’t speak much English. But the last three or four months, when she needed some kind of help with the roses, she’d call Mrs. Sechrest.”
I pondered this.
“So what does this have to do with the murder? Do you think the killer really meant to kill Mrs. Sechrest?”
“No,” he said, frowning. “Why would anyone want to kill her? Mrs. Winkleson, now . . .”
“Yes, no shortage of suspects there. But I still don’t get the relevance.”
“She lied. About how well she knew Mrs. Sechrest. And you know why? Because she didn’t want to admit that she doesn’t know diddly about roses. For months, Mrs. Sechrest was over here every few days, and she’d pretty much move in the last few days before a rose show.”
“Mrs. Sechrest was doing all the real work?”
He nodded.
“It’s probably what killed her, you know?” he said. “She was over here so often that she’d figured out it kept Mrs. Winkle-son happier if she wore black. After the first couple of times, she never showed up in anything but black. Maybe if she’d said the hell with what the old harpy wants and worn pink, she’d still be alive. Wearing black, and being almost as short as Mrs. Winkleson. That’s what got her killed, right? But of course, Mrs. Winkleson wouldn’t want anyone to know that her stupid rule cost someone her life. It’s all her fault!”
Myself, I’d give the person who actually wielded the secateurs a little of the blame, but I didn’t feel the need to bring that up.
“I guess that would be why Mrs. Sechrest came in the back way,” I said aloud. “So none of the other exhibitors would see her and suspect she was helping Mrs. Winkleson.”
“Maybe,” he said. “Then again, she lives over by Clayville. The back way turns in off the Clayville Road, so it saves her a good ten miles each way. I use the back way myself sometimes, when I go to visit family.”
“So she might use it even if she wasn’t trying to sneak in?”
He nodded.
I wondered, briefly, if Mrs. Sechrest’s knowledge of the back entrance made her a suspect in the dognapping. Of course, she probably wasn’t the only one who knew.
“You should tell the chief all this,” I said.
His face froze.
“But I’ll see if I can come up with a way to get the information to him without involving you.”
“Thanks,” he said. “Maybe I’ll take you up on that offer to give me an excuse to leave. Oh, by the way, I have something for you.”
He dug into his pocket and pulled out a ring with two large keys on it.
“This one’s for the cow barn, and this one’s for the goat and sheep barn,” he said. They looked identical, but I didn’t complain. It wouldn’t seriously delay me if I had to try both keys to open the first barn.
“I’ll probably be there to let you in, of course, but just in case.”
“Thanks,” I said, as I attached the ring to my own keys.
“Which reminds me, I should check the barns. Make sure they’re all secure.”
“I would appreciate it if you did,” I said.
He smiled briefly, and began slipping along the edge of the room toward the hallway.
“Where is that nice Mr. Darby going?” Mother asked, appearing at my elbow.
“To make sure the barns are secure,” I said.
“Very sweet of him. Here, dear.” She handed me a plate of assorted hors d’oeuvres. “You look starved.”
“Thanks,” I said. “But I don’t want any crab croquettes. You know I can’t eat crab.”
“Give them to your father, then.”
“And are there shrimps in the egg rolls?”