“I never lost my father before.”
“Of course, but―”
“You don’t know me.” Laurel laughed.
“No, I don’t.” Ellery tamped his pipe absently. “But one possible explanation is that the underlying motivation of your drive is not revenge on a murderer at all, but the desire to find yourself. It could be that you’re nursing a subconscious hope that finding this killer will somehow clear up the mystery of your own background.”
“I never thought of that.” Laurel cupped her chin and was silent for some time. Then she shook her head. “No, I don’t think so. I’d like to find out who I am, where I came from, what kind of people and all that, but it wouldn’t mean very much to me. They’d be strangers and the background would be... not home. No, I loved him as if he were my father. He was my father. And I want to see the one who drove him into that fatal heart attack get paid back for it.”
When they had gone, Ellery opened his bedroom door and said, “All right, Delia.”
“I thought they’d never go.”
“I’m afraid it was my fault. I kept them.”
“You wanted to punish me for hiding.”
“Maybe.” He waited.