A Groom wirh a View

said.
    “Seems unlikely that Mrs. Hessling would harbor a grudge for years over a sewing class. Enough of a grudge to kill the teacher,“ Mel said. “Not to mention that it might not even be the same person.”
    Smith shrugged. “Closer to impossible. Mrs. Crossthwait also kept a big old scrapbook of wedding pictures of all the brides she’d sewed for. One of the earliest was Jack Thatcher’s sister Marguerite. But it was eons ago.“
    “What about the other people who were in the house the night she died?“ Ambler asked.
    “Nothing much. No police or legal records on the bridesmaids. The florist is weird as hell, but hasn’t stepped outside the law as far as we know. The caterer had to sue someone two years ago to get his bill paid, otherwise nothing else on him.”
    Mel asked, “And Uncle Joe, who often sees or imagines prowlers, didn’t report any that night?“
    “Not a peep from him that night,“ Smith confirmed.
    “Sounds to me like you’ve got a mess on your hands,“ Ambler said gruffly. “Any chance the woman who died wasn’t the intended victim?“
    “Anything’s possible, but it doesn’t seem very likely,“ Smith said. “Want the last of my pie? I’m stuffed.”
    As Mel and Smith headed back to the police station, Mel said, “I’m glad you asked Gus Ambler along. He’s a good of boy, isn’t he?“
    “He was... tonight,“ Smith said, smiling.
    “What do you mean?“ Mel asked, loosening his belt a notch and wondering how he’d ever be able to eat again after his massive dinner.
    “Just that he was doing his ‘country cop’ act. After he retired and his wife had passed away, he got bored. So he got himself into Harvard and took a law degree.“
    “You’re kidding!“
    “Not a bit. And get this—he drives a hundred miles once a week to teach art appreciation to some little college he’s got a soft spot for. Doesn’t even charge them.”
    Mel was quiet for a couple miles, brooding unhappily over his misperception of the man. Finally, he said, “I think I’ve been had.“
    “Everybody who’s run into Gus feels that way. Eventually.”

Fourteen

    When Jane and Shelley had finished their dinner, they went to Mrs. Crossthwait’s room and started the sad job of gathering up and packing her things. She had, it appeared, come with everything she could possibly have needed and much more besides. There were tidy boxes of bobbins, buttons, needles, and a large, well-organized case with thread of every weight and color imaginable. There was a full kit of tiny repair tools, belts, and screws for the sewing machine.
    “I’ve always wanted to have an entire collection of... something,“ Shelley said. “This comes as close as anything I’ve ever seen. What’s this thing?“ she asked, holding up a little gadget.
    Jane glanced at it. “I think it goes with the sewing machine. A thing for making ruffles, maybe? I’ll bet there’s a case that holds all those things. Here. This green plastic carton. See? Little compartments everything fits into.“
    “She really knew her stuff, didn’t she?“ Shelley said. “At least she had all the equipment. Poor old thing. I wonder who’ll get all this.“
    “I hope it’s somebody who appreciates it. I guess her church friends will have to decide what to do with her things if she doesn’t have family. Shelley, what do you suppose she was doing anywhere near the stairs in the middle of the night?“
    “Going down for a midnight snack?“
    “I don’t think she had a flashlight,“ Jane said. “At least, I didn’t notice one on the steps or the floor. Of course, it might have rolled under a sofa or chair.“
    “She might have been meeting someone,“ Shelley suggested.
    Jane shook her head. “Not in her jammies. Not a woman of her generation. She’d have stayed dressed if she had plans to see someone, I think.“
    “Maybe she just heard an alarming noise and went to investigate.“
    “Last night was nothing but alarming noises, Shelley. All that lightning and thunder. And being as she was already spooked about auras, and a tad deaf on top of it, I don’t think she’d have willingly gone prowling around without a flashlight and probably a weapon like some sharp scissors.“
    “Okay, I’m out of suggestions. Have you got any?“
    “Nope,“ Jane said, looking for the box where the packet of cherry pink seam binding must have belonged. “What if someone told her there was something wrong and we had to get out of the