“I don’t know.” The giant put his arm about Laurel’s waist.
“I suppose they did. They must have,” Laurel said in a helpless way, absently removing the arm. “I realize now how little I know about Dad’s past.”
“Or I about Roger’s,” said Crowe, marching two fingers up Laurel’s back. She wriggled and said, “Oh, stop it, Mac.” He got up. “Neither of them ever talked about it.” He went over to the other end of the platform and stretched out again.
“Apparently with reason. Leander Hill and Roger Priam had a common enemy in the old days, someone they thought was dead. He says they tried to put him out of the way, and he’s spent over twenty-years tracking them down.”
Ellery began to walk about, avoiding Crowe Macgowan’s arms.
“Dad tried to murder somebody?” Laurel bit her thumb.
“When you yell bloody murder, Laurel,” said Ellery, “you’ve got to be prepared for a certain echo of nastiness. This kind of murder,” he said, lighting a cigaret and placing it between her lips, “is never nice. It’s usually rooted in pretty mucky soil. Priam means nothing to you, and your father is dead. Do you still want to go through with this? You’re my client, you know, not Mrs. Priam. At her own suggestion.”
“Did Mother come to you?” exclaimed Macgowan.
“Yes, but we’re keeping it confidential.”
“I didn’t know she cared,” muttered the giant.