Monica Ferris_Needlecraft Mysteries_04 by Unraveled Sleeve

up.
    â€œWhat’s this about?” he asked, and she explained Betsy’s mistake.
    When they got back to their table, Jill said to Betsy, “The fireplace room in the east wing has been reserved by a man as a single. No wife or significant other along.”
    James said, “Mr. Owen used to be married to a woman who might match the description Ms. Devonshire gave, but—”
    Betsy interrupted, “They came here on their honeymoon.”
    James’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. “Yes, that’s right. That was before we bought Naniboujou, but they told me about it, said they were glad we could take it over and keep it open.”
    â€œThis woman I saw was his ex-wife. She’s here, or she was here. She said they were going to try for a reconciliation. She’s the woman I saw dead.”
    â€œBut he didn’t reserve for two,” James said.
    â€œMaybe she came to surprise him here,” said Betsy.
    Jill asked, “How did she know he was here to surprise?”
    â€œHow should I know?” demanded Betsy, exasperated. Heads at nearby tables turned toward them, and Betsy said, more quietly, “Maybe he always comes here this time of year.”
    They both looked at James, who shrugged and said,“He comes up two or three times a year, usually in the summer, but yes, also in winter. They used to do a lot of cross-country skiing, until his wife got sick. I think he’s taking it up again, in fact.”
    â€œSick?” echoed Betsy, and Jill remembered Betsy’s description of a very thin woman.
    â€œShe’s got a lot of allergies,” said James. “It started with something she came in contact with as a nurse, and it kind of spread in every direction. She’s allergic to pollen, dog dander, pork, dairy products, wheat, and I don’t know what all else. She had to give up all her sports. And he gave up doing them, too, to take care of her. But eventually they divorced, and so now he’s going back to skiing, at least.”
    Jill said to Betsy, “But didn’t you say she went out for a cigarette? Isn’t smoke one of the big things people with allergies stay away from?”
    â€œYes, that’s right,” conceded Betsy.
    â€œMrs. Owen smokes, or used to,” said James. “We’re smoke-free, and she used to complain about having to stand outside to have her cigarettes.”
    â€œYes, she said that,” said Betsy.
    James continued. “I don’t know if she still smokes; after their divorce she stopped coming; she hasn’t been here in years.”
    Jill had nothing else to ask, so he went away. Betsy said, “Maybe we should go ask Mr. Owen what he did with his wife’s body.”
    Jill studied Betsy, her tired face with its frightened eyes. “He’ll say he hasn’t seen her, of course. If he’s murdered her, he’s not going to admit it. And if she never was here—”
    â€œNo, she was here. Too many things fit. His room is where I saw her, and the description matches, according to Mr. Ramsey. Unless I’m psychic, and I don’t think I am. Maybe if we talk to him he’ll say of course she washere, he found her ill in his room and took her to the hospital. I’d like that; I can stop worrying that I’m going crazy.” Betsy looked around the dining room. “Maybe he’s here, having dinner.” Among the two-dozen or so women were three or four men.
    â€œNo, I asked James to point him out, and he said Mr. Owen wasn’t in the dining room.”
    â€œWhat does he look like?” asked Betsy.
    â€œBeats me, I didn’t think to ask. All right, let’s go.”
    They went out into the small lobby, and feeling James’s eyes on them all the way to the first landing, went up the narrow wooden stairs to the second floor.
    Again there was that feeling of funny angles as they went around a not-ninety-degree turn and across the