Chapter 16
Margery dropped to her knees on the wadded mass of the rag rug and gave a sad little moan.
"Margery," I said. "What do you know about this?"
"You can't take it. It's mine!" she said, and she was no longer trying to keep her voice low. "That's all I have from my father. The only thing! You can't take it from me."
"Margery," I said, holding it up in the light from the window. It definitely wasn't rust staining the shaft. The red had dried to brown but had yet to start flaking away. "What have you done?"
"Done?" Margery asked, wiping at her cheeks without quite noticing that she was crying.
"Our friend Mrs. Linda Olson was murdered by an object just this size," I said. "Look, this is clearly blood."
"It isn't!" Margery insisted, but she didn't sound sure. She edged closer to
