He came back into the room. She returned to her place at the table. He sat on the opposite side, leaning his thin face on a thin hand, looking at me without interest.
She drew her brows together, making two creases between them, and asked:
“You mean he knew someone meant to kill him?”
“I don’t know. He didn’t say what he wanted. Maybe just help in the reform campaign.”
“But do you—?”
I made a complaint:
“It’s no fun being a sleuth when somebody steals your stuff, does all the questioning.”
“I like to find out what’s going on,” she said, a little laugh gurgling down in her throat.
“I’m that way too. For instance, I’d like to know why you made him have the check certified.”
Very casually, Dan Rolff shifted in his chair, leaning back, lowering his thin hands out of sight below the table’s edge.
“So you found out about that?” Dinah Brand asked. She crossed left leg over right and looked down. Her eyes focused on the run in her stocking. “Honest to God, I’m going to stop wearing them!” she complained. “I’m going barefooted. I paid five bucks for these socks yesterday. Now look at the damned things. Every day—runs, runs, runs!”
“It’s no secret,” I said. “I mean the check, not the runs. Noonan’s got it.”
She looked at Rolff, who stopped watching me long enough to nod once.