Witch One Dunnit? (Rachael Penzra mystery) by Elizabeth Shawn Page B

himself to a cup of coffee, along with several cookies and bars.  “Do you mind being closed the rest of the day?” he asked politely, as though I had any real choice in the matter.  “I know you count on the summer sales to see you through the year.”
           The thought hadn’t even occurred to me, but he was an elected official and he knew better than to put any extra pressure on an already taut situation.  Actually, I was more than willing to have the shop closed.  In fact, reopening it at all was going to be difficult.  Only the fact it would give us something to do made the idea of business as usual sound the least bit appealing. 
       “Have you told Lucinda yet?” I asked.  Why I needed to know the woman was either suffering a grievous loss, or was still blissfully unaware of it, is beyond me.  For some reason, though, I did need to know.  “What should I say to her?  I feel it’s somehow my responsibility.  I mean, it was my house, and ...”
           “She’s been told,” he said abruptly.  “You say whatever you feel like saying.   That’s usually the best.  I might suggest you don’t mention blame to her; it’s too sensitive a subject.  And if you had nothing to do with the murder, you have no responsibility.  The murderer carries all the blame.”
           If I had nothing to do with the murder?
           “Are we safe here?”  Patsy asked.  I shuddered.  Yet another thought that hadn’t occurred to me.
           “Yes, are we?  Somebody managed to get in here last night.  Did Shelly have any keys with her?   Someone obviously has the keys to this house.”
           “Did you have the locks changed when you took over ownership of this house?” he asked.
           I shook my head. 
           The look he gave me pretty much summed up what he thought of anyone too stupid to change the locks when they moved into a new house.  “If someone came in with keys, he or she still has them.  It won’t hurt to have the locks changed.  I can only spare a man for today.  We’re always stretched way beyond our limit during the tourist season.  I notice that your alarm system only has a switch rather than a code.  It’s way out of date.  You need a coded one.  Anyone with a key to the house can get in silently and just flip the switch to off before it has a chance to sound the alarm.”
       All right.  I’d have the locks changed and update the alarm system.  It was a relief to have something to do, even if it was only harassing locksmiths and arranging for an expensive alarm system to be installed.
   Getting a locksmith change the locks was easy enough.  The man I reached had apparently heard about the murder already and was eager to come out.  He’d have a story to tell.  But when I called about alarm systems, I found I’d have to wait at least a week for a salesman to come and show me what I needed and make arrangements to have a new setup installed. 
           Nobody warns you about what happens in a murder case while you’re waiting for the results of the investigation.  First you answer questions several times.  The same questions, different approaches.   (We had a single break from monotony when a stenographer both taped and copied down our statements.)  Then you wait.  The phone rings constantly and you don’t want to talk to anybody.  If it’s the press, you definitely don’t want to talk, and if it’s a friend, it’s hard to say what’s really on your mind.  There is no other subject of conversation that interests you at the moment.  And I’m not one to “talk it out.”  My philosophy in a bad situation is ignore it and it’ll go away.   The idea is marvelous in theory .
           The murder didn’t go away, but the sheriff and his crew finally did.  Only Deputy Johnson remained, for the most part sitting in the kitchen with Patsy, drinking coffee and staring at her like a