“Plus it’s a good bet whoever tried to poison Mrs. Winkleson is the one who killed Sandy Sechrest,” Rob said. “So this gives him a whole new bunch of evidence to help solve that crime.”
“I suppose,” Dad said. “There’s no actual proof the two are connected. And the complete change in methods is a little odd.”
“I suspect it’s only in books that serial murderers have an obsessive need to commit each crime in precisely the same way,” I said. “Although I can certainly see that Mrs. Winkleson might have more than one mortal enemy.”
“Still rather a lot of people here,” Dad said, frowning. “I hope that doesn’t unsettle Mrs. Winkleson.”
“Unsettle her?” I repeated. “She’s in the hospital, isn’t she? How would she know how many people are still here, much less be upset by it?”
“She’s coming back,” Dad said.
Chapter 33
“Coming back?” I repeated. Perhaps I’d been spending too much time around Dr. Smoot. For a moment, I pictured Mrs. Winkleson returning as one of the undead the medical examiner was so fascinated with. “She wasn’t poisoned then? Or not that seriously?”
“She was poisoned all right, and it could have been quite serious if she hadn’t received prompt medical attention,” Dad said. “But she’s not really ready to come home. Signed herself out against medical advice, but she insisted she had to come home so she could get up tomorrow morning to get her roses ready for the show. She’ll be here soon.”
“Is that wise?” Mother said. “Surely it would be better for her to rest for a few days.”
“That’s exactly what I told her,” Dad said. “But when I did, she accused me of trying to knock her out of the competition.”
“She didn’t,” Mother said.
Dad nodded.
“She said that the killer had tried to poison her and stab her in the back without slowing her down, and she’d be damned if she’d let some quack doctor do it.”
“The nerve!” Mother exclaimed.
“So she’s assuming it’s because of the rose show that someone’s out to get her?” I asked.
“Seems a reasonable assumption,” Dad said.
“Not the only possibility, though,” I said. “For example, I don’t think the chief should count out Mr. Darby as a suspect. He’s very protective of his animals.”
“Is she mistreating the animals?” Dad asked.
“Not that Dr. Blake and Caroline have been able to learn,” I said. “But I get the idea Mr. Darby isn’t happy. So maybe she’s doing something they haven’t found out about yet. Or maybe he’s just upset that she gets rid of all the animals that aren’t quite perfect.”
“Gets rid of them?” Dad asked. “How?”
“Nothing horrible, as far as I can tell,” I said. “Supposedly they’re sold to other farms. Most of them are unusual or valuable animals, so there’s a good market. But I think Mr. Darby gets attached to the animals, and resents her selling them off.”
“Understandable,” Rob said. “But is it a motive for murder?”
I shrugged.
“And there’s her nephew, of course,” I said. When I said it, I saw Dad glance around quickly, to make sure the nephew wasn’t still there.
“Don’t worry,” I said. “He went back to his hotel a couple of hours ago.”
“Hotel?” Dad said. “They couldn’t find him a bed here?”
“I don’t think he felt particularly welcome.”
“How sad!” Mother exclaimed.
“Maybe,” I said. “Of course, it’s possible that he really did hear about the murder on the news, assumed it was his aunt, and immediately set out to get here. But until the chief checks his alibi to see if he really was at home in Warrenton at the time of the murder. . .”
“Because no one pays any attention when I say I spotted him outside the gateway before the murder,” Rob said.
“Because they always like to check on testimony from someone who might have a grudge against the intended victim himself,” I said.
“Oh, all right,” Rob mumbled.
“Besides, they might want to check if he left Warrenton in time to have committed the dognapping,” I said. “Don’t forget the chief is still trying to solve that as well.”
“Yes, Theobald did seem rather eager to take possession of the house when he thought she was dead,” Mother said. “No accounting for taste, is there?” She looked around and shuddered.