She said, “I was living as Lone Bedford in an apartment which was paid for with Aussie’s money. Frankly, it was a straight business deal. But any explanation I could have made to Pete wouldn’t have held water.”
“And so,” Mason said, “with your desire to avoid getting trapped in the inquiry, you decided to come dashing back here. Is that right?”
“Yes.”
Mason hooked his thumbs through the armholes of his vest and started pacing the floor. She watched him with wide, alert eyes, paying no attention whatever to Paul Drake, who’d slumped down on the davenport, his elbow propped against the upholstery, his palm holding the side of his head. For several seconds, Mason paced back and forth in thoughtful silence. Then he said, “No, it doesn’t make sense.”
“What doesn’t?”
“You coming here.”
She laughed nervously and said, “But I came here. It has to make sense.”
“No,” Mason said, “it doesn’t. With the motivation you’ve outlined, your natural move would have been to go to some hotel, register under an assumed name and then let Pete know where he could find you. The sole object you had in leaving Pete was to make him come to you. You’re too clever a woman, and too resourceful a woman, to have surrendered once you had victory practically Within your grasp.”
“Well,” she said shortly, “I’m here.”
Mason turned and faced her. “The reason you’re here, Lone,” he said slowly and steadily, “is because, when I told you Austin Cullens had been murdered, the thought which first flashed through your mind was that Pete had found Austin Cullens was keeping you in an apartment, that with his hot-blooded Southern temper, his jealous disposition, and his ideas of protecting his home, he’d sought out Austin Cullens and...”