I returned then to the Garford Apartments, walking, because I had a lot of things to arrange in my mind before I faced Cara Kenbrook again. And, even though I walked slowly, they weren’t all exactly filed in alphabetical order when I got there. She had changed the black and white dress for a plush-like gown of bright green, but her empty doll’s face hadn’t changed.
“Some more questions,” I explained when she opened her door.
She admitted me without word or gesture, and led me back into the room where we had talked before.
“Miss Kenbrook,” I asked, standing beside the chair she had offered me, “why did you tell me you were home in bed when Gilmore was killed?”
“Because it’s so.” Without the flicker of a lash.
“And you wouldn’t answer the doorbell?”
I had to twist the facts to make my point. Mrs. Gilmore had phoned, but I couldn’t afford to give this girl a chance to shunt the blame for her failure to answer off on central.
She hesitated for a split second.
“No—because I didn’t hear it.”
One cool article, this baby! I couldn’t figure her. I didn’t know then, and I don’t know now, whether she was the owner of the world’s best poker face or was just naturally stupid. But whichever she was, she was thoroughly and completely it!