“Indeed.” Wolfe’s brows went up. “Any special reason?”
“That’s just leaping in the dark, John,” June remonstrated. “Poor Daisy is a spiteful wretch, but—”
“I answered his question, June dear. He asked if I suspect anyone — No special reason, Mr. Wolfe. She’s malevolent and she hated him. That’s all.”
“You didn’t smell burnt powder on her hands or anything like that.”
“No no. Nothing.”
“Well.” Wolfe turned. “What about you, Mrs. Dunn? You went to pick raspberries, didn’t you?”
“Yes.”
“About what time?”
“Shortly after Noel went with the gun and my husband went to chop wood. We finished tea and scattered. Who told you I went to pick raspberries?”
“Your sister May. Wild raspberries?”