Her eyes were wide and frank. A little muscle twitched in her upper lip.
“And you’ve no idea where they might have gone?”
“No.”
Her fingers were rolling her lace handkerchief into a little ball.
“Have you heard from them since you last saw them?”
“No.”
She moistened her mouth before she said it.
“Will you give me the names and addresses of all the people you know who were also known by the Banbrock girls?”
“Why—? Is there—?”
“There’s a chance that some of them may have seen them more recently than you,” I explained. “Or may even have seen them since Friday.”
Without enthusiasm, she gave me a dozen names. All were already on my list. Twice she hesitated as if about to speak a name she did not want to speak. Her eyes stayed on mine, wide and honest. Her fingers, no longer balling the handkerchief, picked at the cloth of her skirt.
I didn’t pretend to believe her. But my feet weren’t solidly enough on the ground for me to put her on the grill. I gave her a promise before I left, one that she could get a threat out of if she liked.
“Thanks, very much,” I said. “I know it’s hard to remember things exactly. If I run across anything that will help your memory, I’ll be back to let you know about it.”
“Wha—? Yes, do!” she said.