I heard the words, but they didn’t make sense. I walked to the door, turned the key, and opened it.
Marian Dunton came in, her eyes wide with emotion. “Oh, Donald, I was so afraid you weren’t here, but the landlady downstairs insisted you were. She said you’d been up all night and were sleeping.”
I snapped into wakefulness at the sound of her voice. “Come in, Marian. Sit down. What is it?”
“Something horrible’s happened.”
I made shift to comb my hair with my fingers. “What is it, Marian?”
She came and stood close to me. “I went to see Evaline Harris.”
“Okay,” I said. “I gave you that lead. Try and get another one.”
“Donald, she’s — she’s dead! Murdered!”
I sat down on the bed. “Tell me about it.”
Marian crossed over to sit beside me. Her words poured out in a low, steady monotone. “Listen, Donald, I’ve got to get out. The landlady’s a suspicious busybody. She said I’d have to leave your door open. You must help me.”