“No, not now.”
“I still think so.”
“I’m afraid you’re overly optimistic. Please thank Miss Framley for me and tell her that I certainly don’t want her to think I was ungrateful, and I guess — well, I guess that’s about all there is to tell her.”
I glanced around, saw that a suitcase was open, that folded garments were placed on a table and on two of the chairs. On a small table in the corner by the window was a woman’s hat, gloves, and purse. A stamped envelope lay on the corner of this table.
“Mind if I smoke?”
“Certainly not. I’ll have one—”
I gave her a cigarette, held a match, managed to move so that I was at the edge of the table as I reached for an ash tray, and then grabbed for the letter.
She saw what was happening and flung herself at the table. I got my hands on the letter first. She clawed at it. I said, “If it isn’t postmarked Las Vegas I’m not interested. If it is, I’m going to read it.”
She redoubled her efforts, grabbed at my arm. I pushed her away. I managed to avoid her, pulled the sheet of paper out from the envelope.
It was a hasty scrawl and read: