Mason grinned, said, “Okay, Rita, I’m going places.”
Rita Swaine watched the jail matron moving toward her, smiled gamely and said, “I’m not.”
Chapter twelve
Rosalind Prescott sat in Perry Mason’s office, clenched her little gloved hands until the soft leather grew tight across the knuckles, and said fiercely, “No, I didn’t kill him! I tell you I didn’t. I didn’t! I didn’t! I didn’t!”
“Who did?”
“I don’t know. I wish I did.”
“Suppose you did know, then what?”
Her eyes were hard, as they met Mason’s. “I’d tell the police.”
“Suppose Rita did it?”
“What makes you think Rita did it?”