“Isn’t she?”
“She’s a bitch on wheels.” Her eyes were as cold as blue ice, but after a moment the angry curl of her lips relaxed, and she went on in a tired, flat tone. “She ruined Ralph’s life. She’s as much to blame for his death as though she stabbed him in the heart herself, which she was perfectly capable of doing, and probably would have if she’d been around last night.”
Shayne settled back, took a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, and held them across to her. She took one and leaned forward to light it from his match. He lit one for himself, and said, “So you disagree with your father about Mrs. Carrol’s true character?”
“I disagree with Pops about practically everything,” she answered listlessly. “Did he happen to mention, for instance, that Nora was his mistress before she hooked Ralph?”
“No. He didn’t mention that.”
The waiter brought their drinks, and at a signal from Ann poured the cognac into her coffee, then went away.
“Well, she was,” she assured him. “For several months. Then she suddenly went after Ralph.”
“Was this before your father and Ralph Carrol became partners?”
“Oh, yes. While Ralph still had his job with Vulcan. While he was still perfectly satisfied and happy with his work,” she went on with gathering bitterness, “when he could still call his soul his own and wasn’t ashamed to look the world in the face.”
Shayne warmed the brandy glass in his hands. “Tell me about Ralph. Have you known him long?”