lip.
“Anything else?” the chief inspector asked.
“There’s moles or somethin’ digging round in the bed nearest the forest.”
Birdsong’s voice was most terribly patient. “Anything not to do with your roses.”
Peterson shook his head.
“And after you finished with the roses?”
“I stopped round home to have my dinner. My old woman, she give me—”
“And after you ate?”
Peterson sniffed, his grubby face the picture of disdainful offense. “Well, I touched up the paint on a few of the tables in the greenhouse, and then I went round to do the fireworks, didn’t I?”
“Touched up the paint?”
“I painted the whole lot last week, but there’s always some bits needing a touch here and there.”
“All right,” Birdsong said. “Was anyone with you when you set up the fireworks?”
“I had Mack helping me put up the little stand we use to fire ’em from. Mostly it were me.”
“Mr. Peterson,” Drew asked, “when you arrange the different ones, do you have any particular order you do them in?”
“Order, sir?”
“I mean certain types together or anything like that?”
“Not really an order as I would say, Mr. Drew. I know your mum, God rest her, sir, she didn’t like them the same color together, if you know what I’m saying. She said it weren’t artistic-like.”
“So you arranged them ahead of time.”
“That’s right, sir. I laid them out the way they should be. Then, when the time came to fire ’em off, I didn’t have to try seeing which were which there in the dark.”
“Capital,” Drew said, and the little gardener gave Birdsong a smug little nod.
“Did anyone tamper with them?” the inspector asked.
“Tamper with them?” Peterson scratched behind one ear. “I can’t say as they was tampered with, though I suppose I got some out of their proper order. Right there at the last were three or four reds together, bold as brass, I may say, and me trying to be so careful for Mrs. Parker.”
Drew shook his head, commiserating. “And when you had them in order, what did you do with them?”
“Like I always do. I put ’em in a trunk and put it up by the side of the house. That way they’d be ready for the party and still be out of the weather, if we was to have any.”
“Did you stay there with the trunk afterward?” Birdsong asked.
“Stay with it? Well, it weren’t going to wander off, were it? Stay with it? I can see you’re gulling me now, sir.”
“No, that’s all right, Mr. Peterson,” Drew soothed. “What did you do after you put them in the trunk?”
“I goes back down to see how Bobby and Mack are getting along with the weeding and such. Then I brought round some peonies from the greenhouse to put in that bed under the librarywindow. The ones that were there were looking a mite peaked, so I thought—”
“Yes, that’s all very well,” the inspector said. “So you did your gardening until . . . ?”
“About teatime it was. My old woman . . .” Peterson looked at Birdsong. “Then after I’d had tea, I went to ask Mrs. Parker, poor lady, when she wanted the fireworks let off. She told me about an hour after they’d had their supper. Now, being an early riser as I am, I knowed straightaway I’d be worth nothing the next day if I didn’t have some rest beforehand, so that’s exactly what I done.”
“And you slept till when?” Birdsong asked.
“Near ten it were. I come up to the house, let off the fireworks, and hurries on back to my bed. I didn’t know nothin’ of what happened up to the house till they rousted me out to come watch over the greenhouse so no one made any mischief with the evidence.”
“You said you got some of your tools from the shed that morning, is that right?” Mason asked.
“Yes, sir.”
“Did you have the shotgun locked up then?”
Peterson shook his head. “I can’t say as I did, sir. But I can’t for certain say as I didn’t.”
“Did you see anyone around the shed who
“Anything else?” the chief inspector asked.
“There’s moles or somethin’ digging round in the bed nearest the forest.”
Birdsong’s voice was most terribly patient. “Anything not to do with your roses.”
Peterson shook his head.
“And after you finished with the roses?”
“I stopped round home to have my dinner. My old woman, she give me—”
“And after you ate?”
Peterson sniffed, his grubby face the picture of disdainful offense. “Well, I touched up the paint on a few of the tables in the greenhouse, and then I went round to do the fireworks, didn’t I?”
“Touched up the paint?”
“I painted the whole lot last week, but there’s always some bits needing a touch here and there.”
“All right,” Birdsong said. “Was anyone with you when you set up the fireworks?”
“I had Mack helping me put up the little stand we use to fire ’em from. Mostly it were me.”
“Mr. Peterson,” Drew asked, “when you arrange the different ones, do you have any particular order you do them in?”
“Order, sir?”
“I mean certain types together or anything like that?”
“Not really an order as I would say, Mr. Drew. I know your mum, God rest her, sir, she didn’t like them the same color together, if you know what I’m saying. She said it weren’t artistic-like.”
“So you arranged them ahead of time.”
“That’s right, sir. I laid them out the way they should be. Then, when the time came to fire ’em off, I didn’t have to try seeing which were which there in the dark.”
“Capital,” Drew said, and the little gardener gave Birdsong a smug little nod.
“Did anyone tamper with them?” the inspector asked.
“Tamper with them?” Peterson scratched behind one ear. “I can’t say as they was tampered with, though I suppose I got some out of their proper order. Right there at the last were three or four reds together, bold as brass, I may say, and me trying to be so careful for Mrs. Parker.”
Drew shook his head, commiserating. “And when you had them in order, what did you do with them?”
“Like I always do. I put ’em in a trunk and put it up by the side of the house. That way they’d be ready for the party and still be out of the weather, if we was to have any.”
“Did you stay there with the trunk afterward?” Birdsong asked.
“Stay with it? Well, it weren’t going to wander off, were it? Stay with it? I can see you’re gulling me now, sir.”
“No, that’s all right, Mr. Peterson,” Drew soothed. “What did you do after you put them in the trunk?”
“I goes back down to see how Bobby and Mack are getting along with the weeding and such. Then I brought round some peonies from the greenhouse to put in that bed under the librarywindow. The ones that were there were looking a mite peaked, so I thought—”
“Yes, that’s all very well,” the inspector said. “So you did your gardening until . . . ?”
“About teatime it was. My old woman . . .” Peterson looked at Birdsong. “Then after I’d had tea, I went to ask Mrs. Parker, poor lady, when she wanted the fireworks let off. She told me about an hour after they’d had their supper. Now, being an early riser as I am, I knowed straightaway I’d be worth nothing the next day if I didn’t have some rest beforehand, so that’s exactly what I done.”
“And you slept till when?” Birdsong asked.
“Near ten it were. I come up to the house, let off the fireworks, and hurries on back to my bed. I didn’t know nothin’ of what happened up to the house till they rousted me out to come watch over the greenhouse so no one made any mischief with the evidence.”
“You said you got some of your tools from the shed that morning, is that right?” Mason asked.
“Yes, sir.”
“Did you have the shotgun locked up then?”
Peterson shook his head. “I can’t say as I did, sir. But I can’t for certain say as I didn’t.”
“Did you see anyone around the shed who
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