“Well, of course not.” Macgowan had recovered; he was even looking pugnacious. “Stupid idea to begin with. Just like this detective hunch of yours, Laurel. Everything’s under control. Let’s leave it that way.”
“All right,” said Laurel. She was still studying her hands.
But Ellery said, “No. I don’t see it that way. It’s not a bad notion at all for you two to root around. You’re on the scene―”
“If you think I’m going to rat on my mother,” began Crowe angrily.
“We seem to be in a rodent cycle,” Ellery complained. “Are you worried that your mother may have tried to poison your stepfather, Mac?”
“No! I mean ― you know what I mean! What kind of rat ― skunk do you think I am?”
“I got you into this, Mac,” Laurel said. “I’m sorry. You can back out.”
“I’m not backing out! Seems to me you two are trying to twist every word I say!”
“Would you have any scruples,” asked Ellery with a smile, “where Wallace is concerned?”
“Hell, no. Wallace doesn’t mean anything to me. Delia does.” Her son added, with a sulky shrewdness, “I thought she did to you, too.”