Richard’s eyes stared at him blankly. “What do you mean, Sam? I told you where I got them.”
“Yes, but—you weren’t kidding, or anything? I mean, maybe you bought them for Aubrey, and thought we’d object if you gave her such an expensive present, so you—uh—”
“No, honest, I didn’t.”
“But dammit, Dick, they couldn’t have fallen out of a window, or dropped out, and not broken. They’re wax. Couldn’t someone walking behind you—or going by in an auto or something—?”
“There wasn’t anyone around, Sam. Nobody at all. I’ve wondered about it myself. But if I was lying, I wouldn’t make up a screwy story like that, would I? I’d just say I found them on a park bench or a seat in a movie. But why are you curious?”
“I—uh—I just got to wondering.”
Sam Walters kept on wondering, too.
They were little things, most of them. Like the time Aubrey had said, “Papa Geezenstack didn’t go to work this morning. He’s in bed, sick.”
“So?” Sam had asked. “And what is wrong with the gentleman?”
“Something he ate, I guess.”