“Mac is something like a great Dane himself,” Laurel murmured, her back to the door. “Huge, honest, and a little dumb. What is it, Ellery?”
“Dumb about what, Laurel?” Ellery eyed her. “About me? That wasn’t dumb. I admit I’ve found Delia Priam very attractive.”
“I didn’t mean dumb about you.” Laurel shook her head. “Never mind, Ellery. What did you want?”
“Dumb about Delia? Laurel, you know something about Mac’s mother―”
“If it’s Delia you want to question me about, I― I can’t answer. May I go now, please?”
“Right away.” Ellery put his hand on the doorknob, looking down at her cinnamon hair. “You know, Laurel, Lieutenant Keats has done some work at your house, too.”
Her eyes flew to his. “What do you mean?”
“Questioning your housekeeper, the chauffeur, the houseman.”
“They didn’t say anything about me!”
“You’re dealing with a professional, Laurel, and a very good one. They didn’t realize they were being pumped.” His eyes were grave. “A few weeks ago you lost or mislaid a small silver box, Laurel. A sort of pillbox.” She had gone pale, but her voice was steady. “That’s right.”