“What’s there to talk about?” she asked sharply.
“Plenty, baby, plenty,” he said, and moving forward, rode her back into the room. He closed the door and set his back against it. “Sit down and let’s be pally.”
“I don’t want you in here. Get out!”
“You’ll get to like it,” he said, wandering across the room and sitting in the only armchair. “Most wrens find me an acquired taste. I grow on them.”
She studied him, then moved over to the couch and sat down. “What is it?”
“Johnny came to see me last night. He wanted to know where he could find Fay. I told him. I wouldn’t have if I had known he was going to kill her. I thought maybe I’d see you first before I told the cops.”
Gilda sat motionless, her face white, her eyes glittering. “He didn’t kill her!”
“The cops will think so,” Louie said, and smiled. “They want to crack this one fast. They’ll love Johnny for the job.”
She stared at him for a long moment. “How much?” she said, clenching her fists. Louie looked surprised.
“You’re quick, baby,” he said admiringly. “Some wrens would have…”