“That’s right. You’re thinking she murdered Sally now — that it wasn’t Everett Belder?”
“It looks that way.”
“Thought you had it all fixed as being a man’s job.”
“I did, but this makes me change my mind. I’m beginning to think Mrs. Belder found out about Sally when she got that letter and went almost crazy with jealous rage. She was so worked up she didn’t even answer the telephone at eleven — and almost saved her own life. She murdered Sally, and then became the victim of a murder trap that had been set for her.”
“Then who murdered her?” Bertha asked.
Sellers scraped a match into flame and held it to the cigar he had been neglecting while talking with Bertha Cool. Then he answered Bertha’s question indirectly.
“Between eleven-fifteen and eleven-twenty-one Wednesday morning the telephone rang. Mrs. Belder was instructed to get in her car, to drive out the boulevard, to go through that last boulevard stop so as to shake off any shadow, and turn abruptly to the left on Harkington Avenue, zip into the garage, close the door and leave the motor running, waiting for a signal. A perfect set-up for a carbon monoxide poisoning. And in order to be certain that it was perfect, the person who planned it went into that garage and sealed up every crack and crevice with oakum.”
Bertha’s face showed her startled surprise. “You mean that?”
“Absolutely.”
Bertha gave a low whistle.