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roses. Gardening is one of her favorite things. I’ll be keeping up the yard until she’s better.”
    “I’m sure she’d appreciate it.”
    I waited while Estelle unlocked the front door. Holding it open with her hip, she gestured me in.
    I eased onto a blue, floral-cushioned wicker chair in the main living room and asked Estelle to sit. A mistake. She immediately fidgeted, signaling she wasn’t used to sitting in this house.
    “Lenora told me more than once how pleased she was to have you, Estelle. As you know I am.”
    “Housecleaning seems like doll’s play compared to the farm chores I did growing up.” Her gaze tracked to a crooked picture on the wall of the family room. She jumped up. “I’ll just straighten that.”
    Despite Estelle’s large size, she moved gracefully, taking wide strides across the room. She ducked into the kitchen and emerged with a dust cloth in her hand. “You don’t mind if I just touch up a few things while we talk, do you?” She swiped at the coffee table top.
    I smiled. “I can’t imagine putting cleaning in the category of play. I have the greatest respect for dedicated scrubbers.” I kept up a patter of small talk a few minutes. It would be best to let her work as we spoke. “I need to ask you some questions related to Lenora’s shooting.”
    She halted mid-step, and her cheeks turned red. “I want to help, sure, but now I can’t say anything personal about Mrs. Lawrence. I know she valued her privacy. That wouldn’t be right.” Estelle planted her two feet firmly on the floor as if the area rug had become a witness stand. “Besides, I never paid much attention to her business.”
    I doubted that was true. Bless her. Estelle observed everything that went on around her. I prodded. “If you saw or heard anything unusual, Lenora and Tucker would want you to tell me.”
    Estelle raised her eyebrows and resumed dusting around tabletop bird sculptures before replying. “Why are you asking? Aren’t the police charging that ex-convict, Kirk Corsini? I never did think Mrs. Lawrence should get involved with felons. I’d like to get my hands on that man.” She waved a fist in the air.
    Estelle obviously agreed with Tucker. “I understand your feelings, but her attacker may or may not be Kirk. He’s only a suspect; we’re not sure Kirk or any other ex-convict shot Lenora. Estelle”—I leaned forward—“when a crime’s been committed, anxiety rises in many people connected with the victim. We all want quick closure for our own peace of mind. But still we must be cautious.”
    “Mrs. Trevor, wouldn’t Mr. Lawrence know more ’bout her doings than me?”
    “Not necessarily, since he wasn’t around during the week.” I motioned Estelle to a chair again, plunked down across from her and looked straight into her eyes.
    “Since you’re here twice a week, you know a lot about the things that go on at Wooded Hill.”
    “I suppose I do, but I don’t gossip about it.”
    “Of course not. It isn’t gossip for you to talk with me. Mrs. Lawrence would welcome my help. I like you guarding Lenora’s privacy, but there’s no time to waste. Mrs. Lawrence is between death and life, but she’s a fighter. If she recovers as we all hope, we need to make sure her assailant won’t return to finish the job. You can help protect her.”
    Estelle’s eyes widened.
    Did I sound reassuring? I respected Estelle’s loyalty. She smoothed her smock down over her work pants and nodded. Wrinkles wouldn’t dare exist near her.
    “What do you want to know?”
    I swallowed, relieved. I seemed to be getting through.
    “First, you said you were here the day of the shooting?” I picked up my pad and pen to make notes.
    “Well, that day stands out because my work days were changed. Usually I do Monday and Wednesday afternoons. But Mrs. Lawrence had to go somewhere Monday, and she liked to be home when I cleaned to tell me anything extra she wanted done. So I came Wednesday and