I walked over to her and lifted her chin.
“Still scared of me?” I asked.
She looked at me.
“No.”
“Swell,” I said. “Come on, I want to talk to your father. I thought you’d help me.”
We returned to the reception-room. Maxison was sitting glaring at Tim, who was trying to look like a Chicago gangster. He didn’t do it very well.
“Your daughter’s got a lot of guts,” I said to Maxison. “Now show me that coffin.”
He took us into a back room. It was large with bare walls. Coffins stood on the uncarpeted floor.
Maxison pointed to an imitation ebony coffin with ornate silver handles.
“That’s it,” he said.