"That's ridiculous, Frank, and you know it. Why would Sam do a thing like that?"
"How should I know why he'd do a thing like that?"
"Why don't you let go of him?"
I did so and Sammy slumped down into his chair. "How should I know," I went on, "why either one of you would bolix up the extension ladder or turn on the gas jets right here in the kitchen while I was dozing?"
"What?" Sue gasped. "What did you say?"
"You heard right, mom," Sammy said, staring at me as if I'd just escaped from the twentieth century equivalent of bedlam.
"Frank, you've been working too hard," Sue said. "Why don't you take a vacation? We could go off to—"
"Oh, to hell with a vacation," I said, but I was simmering down. They both looked so completely innocent, it kind of stopped me. Add to that fact that my family had no reason in the world for trying to kill me, and I was almost inclined to believe them.
Except that you couldn't change the facts. You couldn't change what had happened.
I turned around without saying anything and headed for the door. "Why don't you drop in on Doc Mundin on the way to work?" Sue suggested.