“Well, someone did. Maybe it was Bill.”
“Bill wouldn’t be caught dead with a dustdoth in his mitt.”
“I can’t understand it, Joe,” she said. “I went in there to dust it and it was absolutely dean. Everything just shone.”
Sgt. Friday was trying to get the facts out of someone and his sidekick was complaining about some relatives that had come to visit and I didn’t pay much attention at the time.
But the next day, I got to thinking about it and I couldn’t get it off my mind. I certainly hadn’t dusted the den and it was a cinch Bill hadn’t, yet someone had if Helen was ready to admit it was clean.
So, that evening, I went out into the street with a pail and shovelled up a pailful of dirt and brought it in the house.
Helen caught me as I was coming in the door. “What do you think you’re doing with that?”
“Experimenting,” I told her.
“Do it in the garage.”
“It isn’t possible,” I argued. “I have to find out who’s been dusting the den.”