“That doesn’t click with me. Try another.”

“How about why the first Mrs. Lew Yard was sent to the insane asylum?”

“No.”

“King, our sheriff, eight thousand dollars in debt four years ago, now the owner of as nice a collection of downtown business blocks as you’d want to see. I can’t give you all of it, but I can show you where to get it.”

“Keep trying,” I encouraged her.

“No. You don’t want to buy anything. You’re just hoping you’ll pick up something for nothing. This isn’t bad Scotch. Where’d you get it?”

“Brought it from San Francisco with me.”

“What’s the idea of not wanting any of this information I’m offering? Think you can get it cheaper?”