Monica Ferris_Needlecraft Mysteries_04 by Unraveled Sleeve Page B

you’d think she’d be allergic to tobacco.”
    â€œAre her allergies serious?” asked Jill.
    Owen nodded and sighed. “She lives on lamb and a special diet supplement without soy or dairy in it, she can only wear silk or cotton, and despite being very careful she’s in the hospital two or three damn times a year—” He cut himself off, having grown heated and abruptly realizing it. “It’s a damn shame,” he said, more quietly. “When we first got married we used to go rock climbing, cross-country skiing, adventuring, and run marathons. She was great, I had trouble keeping up with her. Then she got this latex allergy—she’s a nurse, it was the gloves she had to wear—and it was like dominos falling. I tried to be helpful, I tried to keep up with all the new rules, but she got to be such a witch about it—” He blew lengthily through his mustache, cooling his temper again. “It was at least partly my fault, I justcouldn’t go along with the constant changes in the rules.” He looked longingly at his pizza. “At least now I can have things like this in the house again.” He smiled up at Jill and Betsy. “And peanut butter. You wouldn’t believe how much I missed peanut butter.”
    Betsy asked, “Does your ex-wife have a black or dark blue coat, kind of shiny? And a big black purse?”
    â€œI have no idea.”
    A few minutes later, on their way up to their room, Jill said, “What’s this about a shiny coat?”
    â€œI suddenly remember seeing a shiny coat, a full-length one, draped across a chair when I came up and found Sharon’s body. It was some dark color.” Betsy was frowning, trying to remember. She hadn’t of course, been really looking at anything but the body. “Or maybe it was the black lining I saw, like it was turned or folded so the lining was showing. And there was something else, a big black purse, I think. Both of them were on the chair Frank Owen was sitting in this time. What do you think about Mr. Owen?”
    â€œHe’s mad at her, which is understandable. He married an athlete and wound up with an invalid. Tough bounce for both of them.”
    â€œI wonder how long ago they divorced. When I talked to Mrs. Owen, it sounded as if it hadn’t been long, but I got the feeling from him that it’s been a while.”
    Jill asked, because Betsy had an uncanny feel for such things, “So what do you think? Did he murder her?”
    â€œI don’t know. I don’t know if it’s Sharon Owen’s body I saw—though whose else could it be? Did you notice he didn’t slip once?”
    â€œSlip on what?”
    â€œHe always referred to her in the present tense.”

5
    T he bed was big, so each woman had enough room to spread a little without danger of encountering a leg or something even more intimate. Nevertheless, Betsy lay on her side close to the edge and told herself firmly not to sprawl.
    She composed herself to sleep, but it wouldn’t come. The napping in the car, and the nap in the lounge, combined to make her wakeful. Plus there was the uncomfortable thought that she might wake in the night, become aware of someone else in the bed, and think it was Hal, her ex-husband. And forgetting all that had happened the last few months—no, that was ridiculous. Still, it had been a long time . . . Whoa! Where that might lead had her very wide awake indeed.
    Jill, on the other hand, was already asleep. Must have a clear conscience, thought Betsy with a wry smile. She slipped carefully out of bed, but stood a moment, unwilling to turn on a light. It was dark in the room, and there was no noise out in the hall. Betsy thought, I’ll get my knitting bag and go into the bathroom—Oops. She’d left the bag down in the lounge.
    She pressed the button on the side of her Indiglo watch. It was ten-thirty, not very late. On the