“Not a great deal. Most of it we know already,” Paula said, sitting on the edge of the desk.
“Macdonald Crosby made his millions in oil. He was a hard, unlovable old Quaker with a mind as broad as a tightrope. He married twice. Janet, the elder by four years, was by his first wife. Maureen by his second. He retired from business in 1943 and settled in Orchid City. Before that he lived in San Francisco. The two girls are as unalike as they can be. Janet was studious and spent most of her time painting. Several of her oils are hung in the Arts Museum. She seems to have had a lot of talent, a retiring nature and a sharp temper. Maureen is the beauty of the family. She’s wild, woolly and wanton. Up to Crosby’s death she was continually getting herself on the front page of the newspapers in some scandal or other.”
“What kind of scandal?” I asked.
“About a couple of years ago she knocked down and killed a fellow on Centre Avenue.
Rumour has it she was drunk, which seems likely as she drank like a fish. Crosby squared the police and she got off with a heavy fine for dangerous driving. Then another time she rode along Orchid Boulevard on a horse without a stitch on. Someone betted her she hadn’t the nerve, but she did it.”
“Let me get that straight,” Kerman said, sitting up excitedly. “Was it the horse or the girl who hadn’t a stitch on?”
“The girl, you dope!”
“Then where was I? I didn’t see her.”
“She only got about fifty yards before she was pinched.”
“If I’d been around she wouldn’t have got that far.”