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“Because Mr. Wimmer killed himself,” said the woman. “And so it’s not smart to tell people that he didn’t.”

“So you believe he killed himself?” said Vesta.

“Of course. That’s what Mrs. Wimmer told me this morning when I arrived, and I don’t know why she would lie about a thing like that.”

“Were you here yesterday?” asked Vesta.

“Yes, I was. I come in every day. But I usually leave around this time.”

“So you weren’t here last night?”

“No, I wasn’t. If I had been here, I would have stopped Mr. Wimmer from doing a stupid thing like that.” She sighed deeply. “Such a nice man. With such a wonderful family. It’s a tragedy, Mrs. Muffin. A real tragedy.”

“They were a happy family, the Wimmers?”

“Oh, absolutely. Mrs. Wimmer and her husband were both devoted to Rose—one hundred percent.”

“I heard there was some trouble over Rose having a boyfriend her dad didn’t approve of?” said Scarlett, reiterating something Odelia had told Vesta over the phone.

The housekeeper pursed her lips.“Who told you that?”

“Rose herself did, and so did her mother,” Vesta intimated.

“Well, Rose has been seeing a young man who’s hardly suitable company for a girl as young as her,” said the housekeeper, darting a quick glance back at the house she’d just left. “He’s fully five years her senior, you know. A man, and she’s only a girl. And he’s an artist. An artist! And he’s got these…” She gestured with her arms. “Tattoos. And these…” She pointed to her face. “Piercings. Terrible.”

“Did they have arguments?” asked Vesta. “Dino and this young man, I mean?”

“Oh, no. Dino never lost his temper in front of the young man.”

“So he has been to the house?”

The woman nodded.“Rose brought him home last week. Introduced him to her parents and he stayed for dinner. Rose had even asked me to cook them her favorite dish: chicken pot pie. So I did. I made them a wonderful chicken pot pie and they all enjoyed it very much. Rose even thanked me later. And she added that not a cross word was said. But later on, when the young man had left, there was a lot of arguing. A lot of shouting. I was in the kitchen cleaning up and I could hear them yelling at each other.”

“Father and daughter?”

“Yes, father and daughter. Mrs. Wimmer preferred to stay out of it—she usually did. She isn’t the girl’s real mother, you know. So she has to tread carefully. But Mr. Wimmer and Rose really screamed the house down. Well, especially Rose. Mr. Wimmer wasn’t the kind of man who liked to raise his voice. He was always very distinguished.”

“Did he… get violent?” asked Vesta.

“Oh, no!” said the woman, raising her eyebrows in consternation. “Mr. Wimmer would never have resorted to violence. He wouldn’t have raised his hand against his daughter. Never, never, never. But that day, he did yell. Very loud. It wasn’t a good day. Such a pity. They usually got along so well, those two. I always said they were birds of a feather. Whenever Daphne went on one of her Avon weekends they liked to order takeout and watch movies together—all weekend long. By the time I arrived on Monday morning the house was usually a mess—a real pigsty! But I never complained. Oh, no.”

“So this big blowout was last week?” asked Scarlett, who was once again tapping all this into her phone.

“Wednesday,” said the woman. She glanced back at the house where Vesta now saw that the curtains were moving. “And now I must go,” said the housekeeper abruptly, as she must have noticed the same thing. “Goodbye and good luck with your investigation.”

And then she was off, hurrying along the sidewalk to her car—a tiny blue Peugeot—got in and moments later was zooming off.

Scarlett watched her leave.“Not the car the neighbor saw, presumably?”

“No, definitely not.”

Both women shared a glance.“Interesting thing,” said Scarlett. “This big fight.”

“Very interesting,” Vesta agreed.

And then they both glanced over to the house again. The curtains shifted slightly, but then the person who’d been watching them moved away and they were still again.

“I think maybe—just maybe—we should have a word with Mrs. Wimmer,” said Vesta.

“Absolutely,” said Scarlett, and licked her lips, clearly relishing the idea of tackling the widow of the late Dino Wimmer.

Chapter 14

We’d been walking along a little aimlessly, wondering who we could talk to next, when two familiar figures suddenly materialized in front of us. Reading from left to right they were Harriet and Brutus.

The first words out of Harriet’s mouth told me she wasn’t a happy camper. “What’s all this about an investigation?” she demanded, her eyes blazing and her demeanor more than a little hostile.

“We’re looking into the sausage owner who killed the banker,” Dooley announced happily. “So far all we’ve managed to discover is that it’s got something to do with an old lady who used to live across the street from the General Store who was sweet on Wilbur Vickery.”

Harriet stared at Dooley for a moment, then dismissed him out of paw.“I talked to Buster just now and he told me—”