He’s not stupid enough on his own, Conway thought; he has to call on Greta for assistance. “All women aren’t alike, you know, Sergeant. Maybe Greta has an old world point of view that—”
“Old world?” the sergeant interrupted. “You mean she’s a foreigner?” A belligerent note came into his voice. “She was born in Elyria, Ohio.”
“I’m sorry, I just thought, from her name—”
“Her name’s Gertrude,” the sergeant said with finality.
“Well, anyway, there’s no accounting for the way women think. All I know is that my wife was very annoyed at losing the glove, and asked me to go back and look for it. Maybe she wanted to use them for working in the garden.”
“Helen? Working in the garden?” Betty smiled incredulously as she came into the room. “She certainly must have changed.”
Conway stood in impotent rage as the detective wandered to a window from which the garden was fully visible. It was quite evident that it had felt the ministrations of no loving hands, gloved or ungloved, for a long time.
“She do much gardening?” Bauer asked.
“No.” Conway searched for an explanation which the girl would be unable to contradict. “She was always talking about getting at the garden, but she never did anything about it. It was sort of a joke between us.”
“I don’t get it.”