I sat up in bed the next morning with Sheila perched on a chair nearby as we went over what we didn’t know about Freddy’s death and the police involvement. “What Freddy’s sparrow-hawk print has to do with anything, I don’t know,” I said after explaining about DS Natty Glossop’s visit. Sheila seemed preoccupied, and her still-puffy eyes had acquired dark circles. She held a tea towel in her hands that she had twisted into a rope. “Will they tell us what they think—the police?” “I doubt it. Was Freddy in a fight?” I wondered aloud. “You didn’t see, but he had a red mark on his face.” Sheila stood up. “Well, mustn’t neglect the breakfast dishes. I’ll see you downstairs.” I stayed in bed a few minutes longer with my tea, but at last got myself in the shower and felt like a human being again by the time I made it downstairs. Before going to my breakfast in the kitchen, I went down the back stairs to the laundry to start a round of wash. Sunlight streamed in from the high windows that were ground level outdoors.
