18
“What’s in It for Me?”
Elsie Brand glanced up from her typewriter as Bertha opened the door. “Good morning, Mrs. Cool.”
“Hello,” Bertha said, and walked across to drop down in a chair across from Elsie’s desk. “I look like the wrath of God — how do I feel?”
Elsie smiled. “I read in the paper that the body was discovered by a female private detective who had been working on the case. I suppose it was quite a strain. Could you sleep?”
“Not a wink.”
“Was it that bad?”
Bertha started to say something, checked herself, took a cigarette instead. “I’d give anything if Donald were only back.”
“Yes. I can imagine you miss him. But you aren’t working on this case, are you?”
Bertha lit the cigarette, didn’t say anything.