“What about?”
“Seems Ringold was working for Bob.”
“But why did they want to see Bob about that?”
I figured it was time to hand it to her. I said, “Somebody killed Ringold.”
She stood staring at me without speech, without expression, almost without breath. She had removed her makeup, and I saw her lips grow pale.
“You!” she said. “Good God, Donald, not you! You didn’t—”
I shook my head.
“You must have. Otherwise, you couldn’t have got that—”
“Shut up,” I said.
She came walking toward me as though she had been walking in her sleep. Her fingers touched the back of my hand. They were cold. “What did you think he was to me?” she asked.