“Bertha?”
“Yes.”
“That was because your delicate ears shouldn’t hear such language.”
“You’d be surprised at the things my delicate ears have heard. What’s eating her?”
“Oh, just a general gripe.”
She reached across the table. Her fingers closed around my hand. “You’re protecting me, aren’t you, Donald?”
“Perhaps.”
“I knew you were. Your partner wanted you to find me and turn me in and you wouldn’t do it. You had a fight about it. Isn’t that right?”
“Listening at the door?” I asked.
Her eyes showed indignation. “Certainly not.”