The girl was quite drunk, he realized, and in a dazed, half-hypnotic state. The truth might well come through if he took it very, very gently, and did nothing to shock or frighten her.
He lit a cigarette and waited until she had a few sips from the fresh highball before asking casually, “Were you this tight last night?”
“Much, much tighter. I was floating. If I don’t get to floating in the evening I never go to sleep.”
“Where were you floating?” he asked with a crooked grin.
“Round and about.” She gestured vaguely. “Here and there, hither and yon.”
“Was your father sore when you floated into the hotel suite?”
“Didn’t see him.” She giggled. “Took off my shoes in the hall and floated right into bed.”
Shayne frowned fleetingly, then asked, “How long after Nora married Ralph did you get the cute idea of writing him anonymous letters about her?”
“Took me a long time to think of it.” She took a sip of her drink, then continued. “Gave up at first, and thought I’d just let her have the poor jerk. But after she made him quit his job and he got so unhappy and all, I said to myself, ‘Damn it, Ann, where’re your guts?’ So, I did it. Christmas present,” she giggled. “First one was Christmas present.”
“You sent the first one on Christmas?”