“Broke her up, all right.”
“Such a sweet man. So considerate. Not at all the sort you’d expect to do a frightful—”
Nikky reappeared, skirted and sweatered. She seemed annoyed with her mistress’s sister but waited respectfully while Mrs. Marino urged me to stay in one of the spare bedrooms, no trouble at all, really; they’d feel badly if I didn’t — after the peculiar reception I’d been given.
When Mrs. Marino had gone, I put it up to Nikky in words of one syllable.
“You were in the room when the guard was knifed. You saw it all.”
“No. I was in the bathroom. Washing a pair of gloves.”
“What’s the diff? Why all the guff about what the man wore?”
She rubbed her cheek, where I’d butted her. “It’s so absurd. We were doing all we could to hide it; then he had to end it himself. What’s the use?”
“Lanerd?”
“Of course.” She switched on a big console radio, tuned it in to some platter parade, low enough so we could talk but loud enough to keep anyone upstairs from hearing what we said. “After dinner, we both went into her bedroom. Mister Lanerd had a key to her room; he let himself in. They began to argue — she’d written him a note calling off plans to go to South America with him, and he began to maul her. I can’t stand anyone being mean to my baby, so we had a tussle. He swore at me, slapped me. Tildy ran into the other room to ask the guard to help with him.”