“Melusina? What are you talking about? I thought her name was Connie.”
“So it is. The term was merely analogous. Melusina was a fairy. A French fairy.” Simon grinned provocatively. “If you ever delved into such matters in your youth, dear, you’ll remember the story.”
“I never was as good at fairy tales as you,” Pat said demurely.
“Melusina,” Simon continued imperturbably, “was no end attractive and quite easy to take — even if she was on the slightly hysterical side. However, she happened to suffer an injury from her father, for which, if memory serves, she had him imprisoned inside a mountain. She, in turn, was punished by being turned into a snake from the waist down every Saturday night.”
“She ought to have been able to wriggle out of that one,” Patricia said dryly. “But what has it got to do with Miss Grady, if anything?”
“Boss, don’t she t’ink Smith got killed by accident?” Hoppy demanded.
“Inasmuch as you raise the question,” Simon said, “I’ll give you an answer. No.”
“Obviously,” said Patricia. “But what do you think?”
“She’s quite right. It wasn’t an accident.”
Mr Uniatz absorbed half a cup of coffee at a gulp, scowling interestedly.