Who's sorry now?

”No. Edwin was deeply embarrassed and told her to go away. He slammed the shed door in her face. I was working in the back of the house and saw and heard all of it. Then she came after me. I also told her to get lost. That I didn’t need a disease. That really made her mad.”
    ”Nobody else? You’re sure?”
    ”No. How could I be sure? I’m seldom at home. Neither is Jim. We occasionally bring something home to work on, like Mrs. White’s little chest, which she wanted painted red. But that’s unusual.” Harry went on, clearly annoyed by this conversation, which was interfering with his work. ”If he’d had a friend visit, he probably wouldn’t have even mentioned it. Besides, he spent most of his days at the train station. He’d sometimes buy a sandwich at Mabel’s and take it home to eat between passenger trains.”
    ”I’m sorry to have taken up your time,” Walker said, a bit angry for no good reason. Except for pure frustration. He still had no idea who and why somebody would murder a nice, hardworking man.
     

CHAPTER NINETEEN
    Tuesday, May 16, through Saturday, May 20
     
    ROBERT WOKE UP ON TUESDAY with a brilliant idea. He’d have to call Mr. Winchel immediately. The tickets for the mail sorting center were to go on sale the next day and the drawing would be the next Saturday.
    ”Mr. Winchel, I want to rename the letter and package center. It should be the Edwin McBride Letter and Package Center.”
    ”Why? You did all the work to get this set up. It should be named for you,” Mr. Winchel said.
    ”But I started it first to keep the snoops from pawing through the mail, and then it became important to give poor Edwin a decent paying job so he’d be able to rent or buy a house or apartment. He deserves it more than I do.”
    ”Do you really feel that strongly about this?” Winchel asked.
    ”I do.”
    ”In that case it will be renamed. And I admire you for the idea.”
    The next thing Robert did was to dip into the money that was his share of what he had discovered in the first book in the library to buy tickets for himself, Lily, Mr. Prinney, Mrs. Prinney, Mimi the maid, Phoebe Twinkle, Mrs. Tarkington, both Harbinger boys, Chief Walker, Ron Parker, Jack Summer, Miss Exley, Mr. Kurtz, Mrs. Smithson, Mrs. Gasset, and Mrs. Towerton. He’d donate tickets to the town council members—except Arnold Wood, a man he hoped he’d never have to deal with again. He’d also go around to all the people who signed the petition to offer to sell them a ticket so they wouldn’t have to wait in line to buy one. It would take him all day, but he owed it to them to get the first numbers.
    The sorting center wasn’t quite done yet, but it would be ready on the next Saturday, Harry had promised. Robert would also have to find a container for the duplicate tickets, which Mrs. Gasset could draw from. He himself would be on hand to write down the winning numbers for her and help label the boxes inside and outside. He assumed that not all two hundred of the boxes would sell immediately. He’d already turned over the names of the people who’d bought or been given tickets, along with the money and the ticket numbers.
    Mrs. Prinney had helped him make and put up a banner on the front of the train station giving the cost, the sale date of tickets, and the drawing date.
    Robert was really excited that this enormous project would soon be done and the work he’d put into it. He was also pleased that it had been renamed.
    It had taken him all day to give out or sell the tickets and make records of them, and he went home exhausted, but feeling smug. He slept like a rock and woke a little after nine in the morning on Thursday. A quick shave and shower, two slices of toast, and he was off to the train station.
    He was glad to see a fairly long line of people waiting to buy their tickets. Maybe thirty-five of them. He had trouble finding a parking place for the Duesie. When he found a spot near Mr. Prinney’s office, he went inside the train station and asked Mrs. Gasset if she needed help. She claimed she was on top of it so far in keeping records. But she’d hoped he’d be around when the drawing of the tickets took place at ten o’clock Saturday. That, she suspected, was going to be a two-person job to keep track of who had won, and which box they’d chosen to use.
    Harry and his brother Jim were almost done. All that was left was putting the last of the numbers on the boxes and fitting the lock on the