“Book on dogs,” said the clerk. “Any particular kind of book on dogs, Mr. Queen?”
“Hunting dogs! With illustrations! In color!”
Plover did not fail him. He emerged carrying a fat book and a charge slip for seven and a half dollars, plus tax.
He drove up into the hills rashly and caught Laurel Hill a moment after she stepped into her stall shower.
“Go away,” Laurel said, her voice sounding muffled. “I’m naked.”
“Turn that water off and come out here!”
“Why, Ellery.”
“Oh...! I’m not the least bit interested in your nakedness―”
“Thanks. Did you ever say that to Delia Priam?”
“Cover your precious hide with this! I’ll be in the bedroom.” Ellery tossed a bath towel over the shower door and hurried out. Laurel kept him waiting five minutes. When she came out of the bathroom she was swaddled in a red, white, and blue robe of terry cloth.