“He showed it to you!” she gasped. “How dared he?”
Kitty watched the color come and go in Mrs. Parsons’ white cheeks with interest. It was seldom that the widow showed emotion. “I am waiting for an answer to my question,” she reminded her quietly.
“Let Leigh Wallace supply the answer.” Mrs. Parsons had herself in hand again. “He can—if he has not already left town.”
Kitty did her best to repress a start, but the keen eyes watching her under half-closed lids detected it.
“Suppose we leave Leigh out of the question,” Kitty controlled her voice admirably. “Would you rather answer me or the police?”
“The police?” Mrs. Parsons laughed tolerantly. “Dear child, the strain you have been under distorts your ideas. Why the police?”
“Because they are endeavoring to solve the mystery of my aunt’s murder.” Kitty nothing daunted by the older woman’s evasions was determined to fight in the open. “I am convinced, Mrs. Parsons, that Leigh—and you—have a guilty knowledge of that crime.”
Only the most astute observer could have translated the swift change in Mrs. Parsons’ expression. Even to Kitty’s prejudiced ears her low amused laugh rang true.
“You have dug up a mare’s nest,” Mrs. Parsons replied. “To think that you should consider that I had a hand in poor, dear Miss Susan’s death! Why, my dear, it would be insulting if it was not ludicrous.”