“Don’t be a sap!” Bertha yelled back at me. “I haven’t seen anything. I’m trying to get some sleep — that is, I was trying.”
“Take a look at the morning newspaper,” I told her. “Late edition. Front page. Lower right-hand corner, with a continuation over on page three.”
“What the hell’s it all about?” Bertha asked.
“Something you should know,” I said. “Call me back when you’ve finished reading it. Be careful what you say over the phone. Good-bye.”
I could hear Bertha Cool’s indignant sputtering in the telephone receiver as I dropped it back into its cradle on the bedside stand.
It was a full fifteen minutes before she called me.
Apparently she had made up her mind to put me in my place by not calling back, but when she read the news it was so disturbing she had forgotten her anger.
“Donald,” she said, “what’s up?”
“I don’t know.”
“You’re the one who drove that second car…”