“No?” I asked, smiling.
“No,” Bertha screamed. “And don’t joke about it, Donald. You know damn well there ain’t two hundred dollars’ worth of sex in the world!”
And Bertha went out, slamming the door behind her.
“Bertha and Claire Bushnell may have different ideas about the value of sex,” I said.
Elsie Brand lowered her eyes. “And you?”
“I’m not an appraiser,” I said.
Elsie’s eyes remained demurely downcast.
After a moment, she said, “Did you read the papers this morning, Mr. Lam?”
I nodded.
“About the murder of the beautiful blonde, the one who was found choked to death with a stocking?”